


Always Expanding

by loutwix



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 18-Year-Old Harry, 1d autumn exchange, 20-Year-Old Louis, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Boys Kissing, California, Christmas Eve, Happy Ending, Holidays, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing Clothes, Sibling AU, Smol Louis, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Yoga Instructor Harry, boys touching each other, how do you whisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:26:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loutwix/pseuds/loutwix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's speechless. Apollo’s just revealed he has a thing for mortals, himself specifically, and it's the most connected to his Greek mythology class that he's ever felt. How does one react when gods reveal such a thing? Do they bow? Do they flirt back? Do they just drop to their knees in awe? He's not sure, but he can only do his best with what he's given, which is currently a wet, blushing, naked boy gripping his towel with all his might while poetically side-eyeing Harry's next move.<br/>or<br/>(Gemma brings Louis home for Thanksgiving, and Hot Harry is the last thing he expected.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Expanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selfdeprication](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfdeprication/gifts).



> for the 1d autumn fic fest, and i'm very proud of it :) my beta [KAYLEY](http://inkinglarry.tumblr.com) was absolutely amazing, and I couldn't have done this without her. thank you again, Kayley, & enjoy the fic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction, nor am I affiliated with them in any way.

They say the universe is always expanding. That anything and everything we know is inside of it, and always will be, but there’s still more to it. Hylozoism is the theory that the universe is alive, and radicals even say that one can feel the universe breathing through the release of neutrinos, which pass through bodies by the thousands every day.

Harry doesn’t know what any of this means for him; only that if something as large and often overlooked as the universe can breathe, so can he. And this is the kind of positivity he strives to pass onto his students. Especially his senior citizen ones.

"Good, Jessica. That's it, everyone. Breathe deep and keep your cores tight. Let your head fall forward. Hold it just a little longer," Harry quietly paces the studio, bare feet connecting with the scratched wooden floor. "Alright. Exhale, walk your hands towards your ankles, slowly standing all the way up when you're ready. Allow every vertebrae in your spine to fully extend."

Spotify's _Yoga Sounds_ playlist hums in the background and Harry relaxes. _Inner Peace_ has always been his favorite soundtrack. It gives him a bit of inner peace, too.

“And now for the last position, I want everyone to move into Vrksasana, or the Tree Pose. If you can, rest the sole of your foot on your opposite knee like I am, or just stand tall if it's more comfortable for you. Reach high, pressing your hands together. You are a tree in the forest of life. Breathe in deeply.” He knows not to rush this pose; Mrs. McCurdy gets extremely cross when she's rushed. And while he appreciates her dedication, he honestly can’t wait to get home and hopefully sneak in a nap before Gemma is expected home for the holiday. He hasn’t seen his sister in four months, and transitioning from best friends to ‘siblings separated by eleven hours and higher education’ has been rougher than expected. Hopefully, Thanksgiving will renew their sibling strength and prompt them to toilet paper a house together or have a cookie baking competition (those always get heated, pun intended).

The class rests in this position for another three minutes, with several of the younger ones shooting Harry ‘please-end-this-dumb-ass-pose’ glares. He understands where their impatience is coming from.

"Namaste.” He bends at his waist, excusing them.

"Namaste," his class answers, bowing back.

"Great class today, everyone. Have a wonderful day and remember that your body is a temple." They roll up their mats, thanking him as shoes are slipped back on and bodies leave. Harry brings out sanitizer and begins wiping down the mats that belong to the YMCA. _These communal mats will be hotbeds of contamination over my dead body._ It’s nasty, and they smell like feet, but this job keeps him from sprinting to McDonald’s and yelling, “Take me back! Take me back!” It also keeps him quite flexible, which is what all the boys like.

He finishes his cleaning and does a few last stretches for himself before a persistent quacking comes from his phone. Niall must have set his ringtone again; he thinks it’s the funniest sound in the world.

"Hi, mum," he answers, throwing his duffle over his shoulder.

"Sweetie." Her voice is like the sun. "How was class? Are you headed home?"

“Class was good... relaxing. I’m just leaving the studio now,” he replies, locking up the doors and hustling out the front of the building. Harry waves to Liam at the front desk, who throws balled up paper at him in acknowledgement. “Gemma’s expected home at six, right? Do you need any help with dinner?”

“Good, love. And, actually, she’s coming early as a surprise. She just called to say she’s ten minutes away, so she’ll be here when you get home.” Harry hears cupboards opening in the background. She’s probably doing dishes.

Harry hops in his truck, grinning. “Ahhh!” he whisper-screams, “Gem’s coming home!”

“Ahhh! Both of my babies are going to be together!” comes the reply. “I hear she has another surprise for us when she gets here.”

He freezes, suddenly concerned. “You don’t... she’s not engaged or failing or anything huge, right? It’s a good surprise?”

She chuckles. “Yes, H. A good surprise. She sounded very excited on the phone, and I can only imagine what’s got her so worked up. You know how she is.”

“Ready to fight for the world at a moment’s notice?”

“Exactly.” She pauses for a second. “I’m so proud of both my children. She’s spreading her wings so fast and you’re becoming so independent.”

“Mother,” Harry groans. He’s had this conversation countless times. “Not now. Wait until I solve world hunger or graduate or do something important with my life,” Harry remarks softly.

“You know you’re important, love.”

Harry, immensely grateful for her retort, finally starts his car. “I know. I love you. Do you need me to pick anything up from the store before I come home?”

“Well, if that fruit stand is set up outside of Target, we could do with some watermelon. And I love you, too.”

“See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

Forty minutes later Harry finds himself wrestling two watermelons out of his passenger seat and tromping up the driveway. He shifts his arms repeatedly; carrying them is harder than he originally thought. But they’re basically his watermelon children, and he’ll be damned if he’s not an excellent watermelon father. If they don’t make it inside the house, all their potential will be wasted, and Gemma will have to see her failed nieces/nephews splattered on the ground. He doesn’t want to subject her to that now or ever.

He pushes open the door with his hip, maneuvering around and closing it with his foot. Yoga has taught him to be nothing if not balanced.

“I’m home!” He races around the entryway corner, his children slipping from his grip just as he sets them on the kitchen counter.

“Harry!” Gemma jumps out of her seat and into his now-empty arms. “I’ve missed you, little brother. You’re taller now. Just look at you, you little heartbreaker. All the boys must be gone for you.” Her fingers squeeze his shoulders as she holds him from her at arm’s length.

“Gems, I’ve missed you, too. And look at your hair! Purple looks great, you're a right lavender bush now."

"Oh, shush! At least I'm not a lanky yoga frog."

"Hey," Harry frowns. "I thought I would have more time before you got here. I would've spruced up, maybe put on my farmer hat or pinned up my curls.”

“I think your curls look perfect,” a sweet voice comments, and it’s not Gemma’s. Harry peers around Gemma, who’s stepped to the side, before he sees him. He’s washed in gold, a bronzed tan all over, wearing jean shorts and a black tank top. Or rather he’s cut the sleeves off of a t-shirt to make his shirt into a tank top. He has an athletic build, curvy too, and the first thing that comes to Harry’s mind is Apollo. The Sun God. This man has to be Apollo. He pushes off the counter he’s been leaning on and saunters towards Harry. He lifts his hand lazily, fingers reaching for Harry’s curls, and Harry can clearly see a collection of tattoos running from his bicep to his wrist.

The stranger’s fingers play in his hair, and Harry’s not complaining. “See, they’re flawless. All soft and prince-like.”

Harry’s heart flips when their eyes meet, and neither of them can help but grin. "They match your clothes even."

Harry swallows, running his fingertips over his legging-clad thighs. He still has on his teaching clothes. Nothing fit for a prince, unless one’s taking into account how royally gross he must look.

Gemma clears her throat. "Harry," she interjects, "meet Louis. Louis, meet Harry. My brother."

Harry hesitates. Oh. Louis as in Gemma’s accidental roommate. Louis as in the guy Harry Facebook stalked when he was sixteen after seeing his photo on her Instagram. Louis as in _‘I once had a spontaneous dream we married with children and four dogs in a beautiful house’_ Louis.

Louis' fingers flee his hair, much to Harry’s disappointment.

"It's a pleasure, Harry." His voice dips down softer, but it still seems practiced. Formal, even. They shake hands, which proves to be difficult due to their proximity, not to mention the fact that Harry’s embarrassed by sixteen-year-old Harry’s decision to stalk Louis’ old MySpace for three hours.

He can feel his cheeks heating up, almost afraid that Louis is going to read his mind and realize he’s a complete creep. “It’s a pleasure here too. Same. Ditto. Assentior,” he babbles.

“Assentior?” Louis’ face scrunches up, like a baby lion in a savannah preparing to pounce on a butterfly.

“Er, sorry. That was.. I don’t know, really.”

“Oh, H. Don’t be shy,” Gemma teases. She raises her eyebrows at their hands, still linked together in an unmoving handshake, before she turns to Louis. Using what Harry likes to call her ‘superior adult’ voice, she decides to explain a bit. “He gets flustered sometimes around guys he finds attractive. It’s quite cute, no?”

“Gemma,” Harry hisses. Louis squeezes his hand and drops it. Harry immediately misses the slender fingers that were resting on his wrist.

“It’s perfectly fine, Harry. I bet enough guys find you attractive that you get a free pass,” he smooths over the conversation. Harry isn’t quite sure how that logic works, but he glows with the compliment anyways.

The sound of a mug being set on the counter rings in the background, somewhere that’s not Louis’ hair, where he’s carefully studying the way it curls slightly behind his ears. He doesn’t remember that detail on Louis’ MySpace. _How time must fly._ He misses the simpler days of a universal social media platform. It’s difficult stalking someone’s Facebook and Twitter _and_ Instagram, not to mention if they have a Tumblr as well.

“...Isn’t that right, Louis?” He’s shaken out of his daydream, brought back to reality by his mother’s voice. Or maybe the mention of Louis’ name is what reels him back in.

"Yes, ma'am," comes the reply.

Harry can see his mum roll her eyes from across the room. "Please, dear, I've asked you to call me Anne."

"Sorry, Anne," Louis grins sheepishly. "But yes, food does sound wonderful right now."

"That's what I thought. You two must be starved. Honestly, Gemma, skipping breakfast? Are you trying to make me worry about your eating habits?" Anne rinses her mug out over the sink, eyebrows raised elegantly.

"We had coffee, mum. I told you that."

"Shush. You need substance. Let me feed you, it's what mothers do," She insists. "You two head up to your room and get settled. Louis, I'll make a bed up for you tonight. Harry and I will stay down here to cook." She throws a smile to Harry while Gemma and Louis jog up the stairs.

Harry digs a knife out of the far left drawer and begins slicing the watermelon, juice running down the sides of it. They look delicious, and to think that ten minutes ago he would’ve been devastated if he had dropped these babies on the driveway. He thinks most people would call that character development.

“How does watermelon and my famous sandwiches sound for lunch? I have Gemma’s favorite stir-fry for dinner but I didn’t have any special lunch prepared.”

Harry beams. He absolutely loves her sandwiches; she always puts extra sprouts on his. _Who’s the favorite child? Harry is the favorite child._

“Mum, it’ll be great. She’ll scarf down and love whatever you make her, and I’m sure Louis-” he pauses to clear his throat, loving how his name rolls off his tongue, “will do the same. And we should open up the windows, get some fresh air in. It’ll be nice.”

Anne smiles, dimples popping out of her cheeks. “I’m sure Louis would love that,” she emphasizes.

Harry licks watermelon juice off of his fingers in an attempt to seem casual. “And Gemma. Gemma would love that, too.”

“Yes, but Louis is cuter,” she teases. Harry’s not sure if this conversation is an intervention or encouragement, but so far it’s not doing much of either.

"Talking about boys is why I have Liam and Niall, mum."

"Okay, okay, I understand. My little baby is too grown up for me." Anne snaps a towel at Harry before leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I'll let you be."

"I'm not going to try and pull Gemma's roommate!" _Probably._ "I'm not completely juvenile." _Is it too early to write_ Louis loves Harry _all over my hypothetical notebook?_ "I am an adult." _Of legal and consenting age. Not that it matters in this department. Gods rarely fuck mortals._

She only smirks. "Help me platter the sandwiches?"

They finish preparing the meal in peace, and end up setting it on the glass table outside. Bless the year round temperature, honestly.

Gemma and Louis come bouncing outside. Harry has since recovered from their last encounter, but he’s in no way prepared for this perfection. Sleepy, "I-just-drove-five-hours" Louis is completely different from "I-had-twenty-minutes-to-wash-and-actually-dress" Louis. Not that either one is better than the other. It's just different having his hair combed back and his skin practically glowing. He's wearing fresh joggers color-coordinated with an Adidas shirt- Harry is a sucker for color coordination- and he smells absolutely delicious, like vanilla, wood, and perfection, like something Harry wants to inhale forever. He's basically a proper runway model on his day off. Gemma brought a proper runway model home for Thanksgiving. Not that they really celebrate the holiday in the Americans vs. Indians sense, since they’ve only called California their home for a few years, but the idea is still the same (and judging from Louis' accent, neither does he).

“Thank you, mum. These sandwiches look like something straight off of Pinterest,” Gemma compliments. “Literally, we never even have half of this good of food at home. Louis can’t cook for shit.”

“Language, young lady,” Anne chides, passing napkins all around.

“She’s right. Ramen noodles are as far as I ever get, but it’s nutrition nonetheless. These look delicious, better than anything I’ve ever seen,”  Louis grins sharply. “Just don’t tell my mum that.”

Is he flirting with Harry’s mom? Because Harry could’ve sworn he pegged him correctly- pun again intended- in the kitchen. And correctly as in _‘he’s gay and was flirting with me’_ correctly.

“Well, well, well,” she says. “A man after my own heart. I’ll have you know Harry was the one who did most of the work. He’s very handy in the kitchen.” She reaches over and lovingly ruffles Harry’s hair, leaving him to fix the aftermath.

Louis turns his full attention to Harry. He flushes under the weight of it, though he tells himself it’s only from his mom’s praise. “Is that right, Curly? You're a proper Martha Stewart?" he prompts.

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m alright. I used to be a baker so I know my way around scones and cinnamon rolls and industrial mixers."

"Yum, my favorite. I love cinnamon rolls," Louis small talks, still grinning. Harry would let that smile kill him with absolutely no regrets. He would pay that smile to kill him, as a matter of fact.

"Nowadays, Harry puts on those tights of his and teaches old people how to stretch," Gemma throws a piece of her bread crust at Harry, who catches it in his mouth. Good thing he saw it coming.

"No throwing food. Gemma, how was your sociology class last semester?" They carry on a background conversation, Harry finally digging into his sandwich. He's so focused on it that he almost yelps when he feels something brush up again his foot. He quickly glances up, catching Louis' eye from across the table.

"You're a yoga instructor for old people? Like at a retirement home?" he asks.

Harry holds up a finger, trying to chew and swallow his last bite as quickly as possible. Bad table manners are a huge turn-off for everyone. "No, I'm just working at the Y. But my classes are in the morning so only older people usually come. Sometimes businessmen at my six a.m., but..." he shrugs, peering at Louis from under his eyelashes, one of his top-rated flirting techniques.

"Well you do look nice in your tights," Louis glances up and down Harry's body, pretending to check him out. Or maybe he really is checking him out, focusing on his chest and how his wide shoulders stretch his t-shirt out. "Lucky them," he practically whispers, winking.

Harry feels like he's in a trance, and he knows he can't and won't be the first to break eye contact here. If his goal is to hook up with Louis before Thanksgiving break is over (which it could be), then he needs to flirt his way into Louis' heart. Harry only raises his eyebrows in response, returning to his sandwich and letting his foot slowly brush Louis' under the table. _That's very mysterious. Good job, Harry, good job._

"What's your major, Louis?" Anne asks.

"Engineering." His tone is even but if Harry squints, he can see a slight color to his cheeks. _I did that._

"Wow, that's impressive. You must work very hard."

Louis just shrugs. "I do my best, really, but it's still really tough."

Anne nods, muttering a little when she speaks. "I can only imagine."

"Would you pass the watermelon, please?"

"Of course dea-" Harry reaches out before his mum gets the chance, grabbing the bowl and passing it to Louis for her. "Oh. Thank you, Harry," she finishes.

"Yeah, thanks," Louis grins like the Cheshire cat.

"Yeah, thanks," Gemma mocks, making kissy faces out of Anne’s gaze. Louis shoves the remainder of the watermelon he’s half finished with eating into her mouth. She just laughs as they all focus back in on their lunches. Despite Louis' cavalier response, the color Harry imagines in his cheeks becomes more prominent, and his heart pounds every time their eyes meet for the rest of the meal.

 

<<< 

 

After lunch, they all help clean up before Harry excuses himself for a shower and a nap. And by nap he means two hours of uninterrupted silence giving him time to write in his diary and watch Netflix.

Gemma nods at Louis. "Get your shoes on. We're going for a drive."

They get ready and slip out of the house after Anne gives them kisses and Gemma mentions something to her about going to the top of the world.

As Louis gets in the car he's definitely not nervous. Just, well, a little sweaty. It happens to the best of them. Besides, he has nothing to be nervous about. It's not like his roommate and dear friend just watched him hit on her little brother and play with his hair for an hour. Louis was just being nice, honestly. The fact that said brother was extremely kind and hot as hell had nothing to do with it. He would've done the same with anyone else.

"So," Gemma starts, pulling into the main road. Louis knows that tone. That tone means someone is about to get roasted. And since he's the only other one in the car, he's the perfect candidate.

"So," he counters. "Where are we going?" He will not let her have the upper hand here; that could be dangerous.

"It's a secret," she spits. "Let's talk about Harry."

So much for that plan. "Harry? As in your brother Harry?"

"No, Harry as in Prince Harry of England, God save the Queen."

"Oh. Well, I actually don't think of him much but I've heard-"

"Louis."

"Yes?" His legs are quivering and bouncing and he stretches his feet out, definitely not nervous ticks of his.

"My brother Harry. Harry as in the one I just watched you try and mate for the last hour." She makes a turn, narrowly missing the line of oncoming traffic. Louis is going to die.

"I was not trying to mate him! I was just talking to him. I talked to your mum, too, but that doesn't mean I was trying to mate her." This isn't going well at all. His defense is weak and the facts are stacked up against him.

"Have you seen your hair? When was the last time you did your hair like that?" She holds up her hand, signaling for him to back down. "Wait, I can answer that for you. The last time was when we went to that club two months ago and you wouldn't shut up about how much you wanted to get laid and how your hairstyle was going to help you do it."

_Shit, she's right._ "You didn't tell me Harry was hot!" he defends.

She takes another sharp right onto a side street, velocity throwing Louis into the door. "Yeah, because he's not!"

"Yes he is! Have you seen his face? Have you seen his body? Hm? Or his smile? Did you see kindness radiating off of him?"

She pulls onto the curb and shuts off the engine. "I'm begging you to never say any of those sentences ever again," and she climbs out of the car.

Louis rushes after her. "This one’s on you! If you had given me any beforehand warning, it wouldn't be this bad. I only brought one pair of good jeans!"

She leads him further down the path. "Oh please, you know your ass looks good in anything."

"Oh," he's surprised at this sudden turn in the conversation. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now come over here." She breaks off the path and steps through some trees. Louis doesn't really want to follow her (what if she's plotting murder) but he reasons he's safer with her than alone if a wild animal in the middle of a subdivision decides to attack them.

He fights his way through the trees and into a clearing, which ends in a sharp cliff with a forty foot drop ending in an enormous river below. She's definitely plotting murder.

"Gems. I'm sorry, okay. That must have been uncomfortable for you and I'm sorry you saw it, but really I'll behave. You don't need to actually kill me," he wipes his hands on his sweats, staying back by the trees.

She throws her head back and laughs, the noise rumbling throughout her body. "Really?" Her eyebrows raise, sizing Louis up. "You huge baby. I'm not going to kill you. Just come here, will you?"

He sighs and accepts his fate, slumping over to where she stands by the edge.

"Okay, _Lewis_. You see this cliff?"

He nods.

"You see how far down the fall is to the treacherous, ice-cold, piranha-filled water?"

"Piranhas?"

"Don't argue, son."

Louis nods again.

"Good." She offers him a fake smile. "I love you to the ends of the Earth, but my loyalties will always lie with Harry."

He holds his tongue. _This isn't a western shoot-out, Gems. You can take it down a notch._ He just doesn’t say it because he’s not sure where he is and he'd rather like it if he makes it back to the house (and Hot Harry) very soon.

"If you hurt him, I will push you off of this cliff and make it look like an accident. Got it, pal?"

"I won't hurt him. I would never." He doesn't know that, can never be certain of that, but Harry shines like the cosmos personified and he would never want to cause him pain.

They're close, only a couple feet away from one another, so it's serious when Gemma looks him straight in the eyes and nods once. "Good. Now, welcome to the Top of the World, otherwise known as the place I dumped my boyfriend senior year on graduation night because he bought and consumed three Xanax pills at once, and I don't roll with dumbasses."

Louis' grinning now, the mood suddenly lighter. "That's the Gemma I know. Fighting stupidity one crushed heart at a time."

They stay there for an hour, exchanging stories of their failed high school loves and broken hearts.

 

<<<

 

Harry doesn't care about Venus. Venus is like a trillion degrees, has constant lightning storms, an atmosphere of poison, and (symbolically) the Soviets are the only ones who have ever tried to land there before their launcher exploded under the planet's pressure. Frankly, it's an awful place to raise children, which makes it obsolete in Harry's eyes. However, he has a quiz on this chapter due by midnight, so he supposes he should be looking at this from a scientific perspective.  

Before dinner, a surprised Robin had come home to Louis lounging in his living room. Harry had forgotten that Louis was most likely the (very nice) surprise his mom had mentioned over the phone that morning. Dinner itself passed by uneventfully, nothing but a handful of flirty looks and lovely smiles from Louis. Robin chatted with Gemma and him about university, and Anne told chronicles from her second grade class. He loves family dinners like these. Loves that they can sit down and banter about nothing, loves how good the food is- half the time he’s responsible for the cooking anyway. He usually has dinner with his mum and Robin if their schedules allow for it, but having Gemma back is the missing piece. It had been too quiet without her, and too boring without Louis.

He sees why they're such good friends now. They're both witty as hell and they sharpen each other's minds like no other. He's content to just sit and admire Louis, what kind of person he's like. But that would’ve been a bit creepy, so he hid behind his spoonful of noodles, eyeing him up instead.

Harry's reading about the Soviet’s failed Venus mission towards the end of the chapter when someone knocks on his door.

“Come in,” he answers, peering up from where he sits cross-legged on the bed. It opens swiftly and, to his surprise, Louis pops his head in.

“Hey, Curly. Got a minute?” He’s still in his dinner clothes; Harry’s already changed into his sweatpants and a thin t-shirt.

Harry straightens up, pushing his book to the left. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

Louis grins, shutting the door behind himself. “Did I interrupt your studying?” He questions sincerely, gesturing towards the book.

“No, not at all,” Harry babbles, but Louis doesn’t appear to buy it. “Well, a bit. But it’s okay. It’s just an online class, so I can do it later.” As in later tonight.

He moves across the room to perch on the desk by Harry’s bed. “What’s this?” He picks up the book, weighing it in his hands. “Astronomy?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat, squaring up to Louis. “It’s technically my gap year, but I wanted to stay in the practice of learning so it won’t be too difficult when I start university next year.”

When Louis smiles this time, Harry takes note of his pointy teeth peeking out from behind his lips, and of the way baby crow’s footprints naturally take shape outside his eyes. “Taking a class over your gap year. I don’t know anyone else who would do that. You really are something, Haz. Strange and beautiful.”

He’s not flirting this time. Or, he may be, and Harry just can’t tell. His tone is completely honest and Harry flushes under the sincerity of his words. “I just like learning. And,” he whispers, “I deferred UCLA for a year.”

“Oi!” Louis shouts, definitely teasing now. “Aren’t we a little smarty-pants? I know Gemma went to a private school up here. Does that make you a private school elite too?”

Harry leans back on his hands, chest open, and he hopes the dim lamp light will do its best to shadow his profile in the same alluring way it’s playing off Louis’. “Well, I wouldn’t go that deep. We were far from ‘elite’. Just better,” he winks.

“My public school heart is wounded,” Louis throws a hand over his heart, leaning back from the pretense of a gun wound. “How dare you insult the shithole that is public education!”

“So did you go to high school here? I took it from your accent that I’d found a fellow English scholar.”

Louis nods. “You’ve got a great ear on you, babe. Great features all around, really.” _BABE!!!_ “I’m from Doncaster, originally. We moved when I was fourteen. My mum had just fallen out of a relationship and she had a better job offer here, plus there’s more sun. I grew up in an apartment in Long Beach with all my sisters, and we loved being outside, loved it all. Except for capitalism.”

“Bloody capitalism,” Harry agrees, rolling his eyes in jest.

“And public school!” Louis interjects. “Don’t forget our education is what started this whole conversation. I once saw a teacher throw a desk across the room.”

“What? Why?”

“Because no one came to his after-school art show,” Louis chuckles. “It was raining all over the coast that week, flash floods and shit happening everywhere, so everyone stayed home to make sure their houses didn’t float away and their pets stayed underfoot. He ranted, threw the desk in third period, cried a bit, and was fired by fourth. Some teachers just lose it,” he shrugs.

“Wow, maybe I am a public school elite. Or maybe something was just wrong with your high school.” He kicks his foot out, hitting Louis’ ankle but hooking his own foot around it because he has a cute boy right there and he can.

“Tosser,” Louis huffs, but the viciousness in his words is softened by a fond facial expression. They sit there for a couple beats, studying each other’s faces.

“So did you come in here on this thrilling Monday night for an educational debate or am I sharing this room with you?”

“Oh.” Louis’ eyebrows perk up, breaking whatever small trance they had going on. The lamp light still plays off his face, highlighting every curve, shadow, and crevice Harry wants to trace with his fingertips. “As much as I’d absolutely love to share this bed with an angel like you, I get the feeling it’d be highly inappropriate, all situations considered.” He smirks slyly.

“No. No, I meant like... would you need a place to sleep, as in I could leave my room and you could sleep here and I could go to the couch or the floor or I could just not sleep at all or, ugh, nevermind." He buries his head in his hands, flustered. Louis consistently manages to fluster him. He should look into making it a career.  

"Your accent is stronger when you're riled up. It’s probably the cutest thing I've ever seen." _You're probably the cutest thing I've ever seen._

"You're the cutest thing I've ever seen," Harry spits. Louis absolutely beams, pleased with the malicious retort. _Yes Harry, good job._

"You're quite the charmer." Louis reaches out and brushes his fingers over Harry's upper arm. All he can do is pray he doesn't get hard from that.

Louis notices the goosebumps he raises, but doesn't mention it. "I need to borrow a t-shirt. I seem to have forgotten all my comfortable sleep ones, and it's a bit chilly to sleep shirtless."

“Of course.” Harry stands up from the bed, heading towards his old dresser. He shuffles through the stacks of clothing before holding up a faded black _Ramones_ shirt. "Is this okay?"

"That's perfect." He begins undoing his shirt buttons, working his way down and down until it's completely open, his whole torso on display. He has a quote scrawled across his chest. _It is what it is_. Harry's eyes travel down to the softest looking stomach and even further to where Louis is starting to undo his pants. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest and this is it. This is where he will die.

"I'm sorry." Louis stops for a moment, smiling like a minx. "Is it okay if I change in here?"

Harry nods, and there's no way Louis could’ve missed the attraction in his eyes. Then suddenly, Louis' standing across the room in only a pair of tight, black boxers. Topman, even, like a true englishman. Harry hopes his semi will chill out through his sheer force of will.

Louis is completely smug. "Can I have the shirt, please?"

If his boner isn't obvious yet, it will be when he tries to move. So, as Plan B, he balls up the shirt and chucks it across the room, hitting Louis right in the face.

"Woah," he laughs. "Calm down, tiger."

Thankfully, the shirt falls all the way past his boxers, but it does nothing to fix Harry's current problem. Next thing he knows, Louis is picking up his clothes from Harry's floor and breezing out of the room with a soft, "Night, babe."

The door latches behind him and Harry feels like he's floating.

On the other side of the wall, Louis stands in the dark hallway with his nose buried to his chest and inhaling the shirt. It smells perfect--just like vanilla and the coconut candle he noticed on Harry's windowsill.

"What are you doing?" A voice asks behind him. He freezes. Gemma’s found him. "Is that Harry's? Why are you smelling it like a weirdo? Why are you in your bloody boxers?"

She's directly in front of him, staring him down. Louis doesn't know what to say without incriminating himself, so he remains silent. They have a stare-off that Louis ends by looking away and clearing his throat. It's his form of surrender, and she takes it.

"Whatever. Your bed is made up on the couch downstairs. Please go down there and sleep and stay in _your_ bed while you sleep by _yourself_."

He turns to go, just wanting to be alone so he can smell the shirt again in peace. "Thanks, Gems."

"Whatever. Weirdo," she teases.

 

<<< 

 

On the mornings Harry isn't in the studio teaching Sun Salutations, he runs around his neighborhood. There's a four mile loop he's carved out after months of this practice, and it's his second favorite way to spend mornings (tied with yoga. Sex takes the number one spot). There's something special about being outside before most people have even left their houses. The town is still and sleepy, slowly waking up with the rising sun as more and more cars appear on the road. He's even written some heartfelt poetry about this.

Once he’s home, he attempts to quietly clamber up the stairs. Gemma always gets grumpy when she's awoken early on holidays, especially if it's Harry's fault. She’ll blame him for making the smallest of noises; he swears she has it out for him sometimes. She’s been known to hide all his whole grain bread and bury his kale in the backyard in a fit of sleep-deprived rage.

His shirt is drenched, so he wrenches it off and tosses it in his hamper before grabbing a change of boxers and heading to the bathroom. No one else cares to be awake yet, and he has plans for a long shower and a possible wank to the images of Louis from last night. He couldn’t decide if it was morally alright to pull one off right after the incident, but after a long, restless sleep, he can’t possibly want anything more.

Except seconds before he enters the bathroom, a wet and naked Louis with a towel drawn around his waist emerges. Harry falters and keeps walking, crashing straight into the hottest man he’s ever seen, bare chests touching.

“Oops. Shit, I- sorry.” He’s pressed up against him, practically stepping on Louis’ feet, which are very small and precious now that Harry looks. He has more pressing matters to deal with at this time though. He backs away quickly, trying to appear unaffected.

“Hi, Styles,” Louis greets, scanning Harry from his surprised face to his shirtless torso, down his small black running shorts and long legs, eyes making the trip back up again. He feels like he’s on display, hopes Louis sees him as priceless art and not just a little brother of a friend. “What a great way to start the day.” His polite smile only magnifies the inappropriateness of the situation.

_Please think I’m even half as attractive as I find you._

“Oh, darling, I’d be honored if you found me even a quarter as attractive as I find you. Hell, I'd be flattered if it was even a sixteenth.” Louis is still standing in the doorway with all his godly glory.

“I...said that out loud?” Harry stutters, frustrated he’s getting so flustered. He’s a casanova, damnit. All the ladies tell him that. Granted, they’re usually grandmothers he’s seducing for baking tips, but still. A compliment is a compliment. Louis continues staring at him, though, and he needs a defense. Both hands fly up to cover his nipples, pinkies stretching down in an attempt to cover his third and fourth.

“You have four nipples?”

Harry nods.

“Well, that right there is very useful information.”

Harry can’t make out his tone.

“Are you making fun of my nipples?” Nipple defense mode activated. “Because that’s actually a bit rude…” he trails off. He’s always skirted around confrontation, but his nipples are personal and very much a part of him.  

“Fuck,” Louis exclaims, running a hand over his face and through his wet hair. “No. Not at all, I would never. It’s just..” He pauses, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. “Alright, Harry. Sometimes when I try and flirt, I make a complete ass of myself. Most of the time, actually. Like last night! The hell was I thinking, stripping in front of you? That was completely uncalled for and I’m sorry if I came on too strong or made you uncomfortable- I didn’t even ask if it was okay. I just- my brain shuts down around cute boys!” A self-deprecating chuckle escapes his throat. He’s obviously embarrassed, a blush sitting high on his cheekbones. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. And I promise to back off if you want me to and I’ll definitely try to stop being so rude and...sleazy.” He crinkles his nose at the last word but nods affirmatively.

Harry's speechless. Apollo’s just revealed he has a thing for mortals, himself specifically, and it's the most connected to his Greek mythology class that he's ever felt. How does one react when gods reveal such a thing? Do they bow? Do they flirt back? Do they just drop to their knees in awe? He's not sure, but he can only do his best with what he's given, which is currently a wet, blushing, naked boy gripping his towel with all his might while poetically side-eyeing Harry's next move.

So, he really has no option but to charm. He leans a bit forward, would take a step closer if their feet weren't already practically touching at the toes. Louis remains still in anticipation.

"You don't have to stop, you know," Harry whispers. "I won't tell, if that's what you're worried about. There's no need to hide either. It's not as if we're doing anything wrong."

Louis leans in. "We're both consenting adults."

"Exactly." Harry leans in further, hips bumping Louis' hands as they clutch the towel and his lips are so, so close to his jaw. "I know what I want."

"Good." Louis fixes it so their lips line up, eyelids lowering but not pushing his body forward.

"Okay," Harry breathes.

"Okay." Louis’ eyes finally shut and he leans his body completely into Harry's as if they've done this a thousand times before. Their knees don't knock, their lips have yet to touch. But Harry remedies this, finally ghosting his lips over Louis'. He has a height advantage, and he's not afraid to use it. He wants to back Louis into a corner. He wants to pick him up and pin him there until he’s sure he’ll always recall the way their bodies are pressed together.

But seconds before an actual kiss happens, Harry pulls back. He studies Louis’ face, convinced he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes are closed, eyelashes casting shadows across his marble cheekbones. His face is smooth; it smells of aftershave, and his lips are slightly open in anticipation. Harry can still feel the spot where Louis’ breath hit his own lips.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, then.” His tone is still deep, words rushed. Louis opens his eyes slowly, practically sighing. Harry slips past him with only a peck to his cheek, anxious to shower and finish out his plans for the morning.

Louis slumps out of the doorframe, and Harry takes the moment to quickly barricade himself in there with a, "Sorry, babe."

He immediately starts the shower and rids himself of clothes. He steps in, beginning his first order of business. He honestly believes he's been half hard since he first saw Louis. Louis, with a sharp smile and even sharper wit. Louis, who changed in front of him and later apologized because he hadn't asked permission. Louis, who was pressed up against him less than a minute ago. Louis, Louis, Louis.

He cums to those thoughts in less than three minutes. Biting his bicep as he rides it out, he can't help but wonder how a different mouth would feel biting the same area. He comes to the conclusion he's fucked, in more ways than one.

 

<<< 

 

Harry gets out of there after breakfast. Seeing Louis in any way, shape, or form after their conversation in the hallway is too tempting. He just wants to jump him, attack him with kisses straight on the lips, but he knows he should hold back. For today, at least.

Besides, he planned a bro date with Niall and Liam for today, and he'll be damned- or $20 richer- if he misses out on Chuck E. Cheese.

He slips out of the house easily enough, though he definitely feels Louis' gaze follow him to the door. Apparently he had changed back into Harry's t-shirt and sweats while waiting for Gemma to wake up, which does things to Harry's mind. He’ll probably tell Louis to keep the shirt, seeing as it looks best on him (and then he will wink, stealing Louis’ heart for eternity).

Harry pulls up to Chuck E. Cheese around ten, Liam and Niall beating him by just a couple minutes. This has been their hang out since middle school, hence the childish choice of a lunch and play place.

"So?" Niall begins. "Tell us about Hot Lewis."

Harry chokes on his salad. He had texted them everything last night after the changing and wearing-Harry's-shirt situation, but he specifically did not spell his name as 'Lewis'. "It's Louis, actually. With the 'ie' ending sound as in Addie," he corrects.

"Oh, as in Harry? As in Louis and Harry sitting in a tree?" Liam asks, faux-innocent.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G?" Niall's shit-eating grin says it all. Harry has been cursed with horrible friends.

However, Niall's comment does bring back memories from this morning burned in Harry’s brain.

"He's blushing! Look, Li, do you see that?"

Liam tilts his head in examination. "Hm, yes I do, Niall. Looks like Styles has a proper flush going on there. There’s something he’s not telling us. One might even say they've kissed already."

"Nooooo," Niall gasps. He brings his hand towards his mouth, speaking into a fake microphone. "Please, sir, tell the audience how it felt kissing your very attractive older sister's roommate whom she brought home for Thanksgiving. Which, may I just add, happens to be the least romantic of holidays, as determined by me."

The microphone is shoved across the booth and into Harry's face. He promptly shoves it away with a, "Leave my sister alone."

"So you did kiss," Liam reasons. "Nice."

"No! I- we.. No. We didn't kiss. Just, almost," he admits. "It may have even been a moment of weakness from him! Who's to say he wants to kiss me, hm? Maybe he's straight."

"You're too funny, Styles. Liam and I googled and social media stalked him on our way over here, and let me just tell you that he is very much _not_ straight and very much single." His eyebrow waggle is too much for Harry to handle.

“What’s to say he wants me though?”He continues eating his salad, silently laughing at his friends who had decided to split a pizza and now have to wait for their food. _Who’s the smart friend? Harry’s the smart friend._

“Mate, he literally stripped in front of you.”

“Changed! He changed, not stripped. There’s a difference.”

Liam rolls his eyes. "The point is he wanted you to see his, and I quote, _hot as fuck, probably even hotter than David Beckham's_ body."

"No way, mate. That's not possible," Niall argues. "It's a scientific fact David Beckham is the greatest male specimen to ever exist."

Harry shakes his head sadly. "He's even better than David Beckham. Or they tie at least, but Louis definitely smells better, just like vanilla, oranges, and perfection. Plus, I haven't told you guys about this morning yet."

"You had sex this morning?"

Someone to the left clears their throat. "Hi, you guys had a pepperoni pizza?" His name tag reads ‘Bradley’ and his cheeks are red with embarrassment. He’s successfully avoiding eye contact with anyone but their sticky table top.

Harry stuffs his mouth with salad to avoid any more speaking roles, while Liam answers him with a polite “Yes.”

Bradley places the tray on their table, swiping up their order number.

“Thank you,” Liam chirps.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, appearing ready to run away. But first he turns to Harry, holding his eyes. “Congrats on the sex,” he mutters before darting back to the safety of the kitchen.

Harry’s mortified, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, we didn’t have sex.”

“Okay.”

“Whatever you say mate.” His friends reply simultaneously, and fuck it all if Harry doesn’t take the pizza distraction as an opportunity to change the subject.

“Did you guys watch _How to Get Away With Murder_ last week?”

“Fucking ridiculous! What the fuck Colliver, get your shit together!”

“Down with Frank! Someone expose him!”

 

<<< 

 

Forty minutes and five plot analyses later, they’re skeeballing in concentrated silence. As tradition dictates, the one with the most tickets can buy the most cotton candy and heart stickers, which Harry desperately needs if he’s going to woo Louis. Heart stickers are a seduction tool, that he’s sure of. Plus, who doesn’t like cotton candy? Who wouldn’t want to kiss Harry after he shares all his winnings? (He’s still a bit nervous the answer to both those questions might be ‘Louis’).

Niall rolls his ball into the top corner of the machine, racking up 30,000 points. “Hell yeah! Look at that, you losers!”

A mother behind them covers her three-year-old’s ears, swiftly rushing away.

“Language, Niall,” Harry hisses. “We’re surrounded by infants.”

“Oh, don’t get mad, Styles. I’m sure Louis will still want to sleep with you even if you’re a skee ball loser.”

Liam mutters something about his idiot friends, continuing to roll his balls down the chute. “I’m not a loser, Niall. I’m actually quite seductive when I want to be.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know that. We have been out to clubs with you, you little minx. We’ve seen you in action and it’s quite honestly gross as hell.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I believe you mean seductive as hell.”

“Nope,” Liam butts in. “Niall’s right. It’s quite gross. Weird even… Who pulls people with knock knock jokes and yoga moves? Are those meant as foreplay or?”

Harry claps his hands, enlightened. “Yes, Li! Thank you. Those are exactly what I need to pull Louis.”

“You mean one like, ‘Is your dad Liam Neeson? Because I’m taken with you.’” Niall drops his voice, imposing an atrocious British accent over his Irish one before cracking up.

Harry must defend his honor. “It’s not my fault the guy had never seen the movies.”

“What about that one you used on graduation night?” Liam asks. “I think it was ‘Are you a campfire? Because you’re hot and I want s’more.’”

They both end in a fit of giggles, Harry angrily continuing to skee his balls. He’s only 2,900 points behind Niall. Who’s going to be the loser now?

“In my defense, he wasn’t _acting_ like he had a boyfriend. I would one hundred percent use that line again.”

“Would you also one hundred percent use that line on Louis?”

Harry rolls another ball, now tied with Niall and he still has one more ball to go. “Yes, I one hundred percent would. He’s very deserving of that line.”

“You mean he’s hot and you want s’more?” Liam waggles his eyebrows. Harry throws his last ball.

“He _is_ hot and I _would_ like s’more!” It lands in the lower left hole, giving him a perfect score of 100,000 points total. Multicolored lights illuminate his lane, _Celebration_ blasting from the speakers. His lane dispenser spits out ticket after ticket. “Look at that. Who’s a loser now, Niall?”

Niall just shakes his head in annoyance. “This always happens to you.”

“Excuse you, that’s because I’m good at skeeball.” He dances a bit to the music, exaggeratedly waving his arms to annoy Niall even more. “Come on, Niall. Dance with me.”

“No,” Niall grumpily gathers his tickets, Liam mirroring his actions.

Harry’s machine is still spitting out tickets, enough for at least four cotton candies. “Ball is life,” he whispers softly. He can’t wait to get home and complete his wooing.

 

<<< 

 

Louis’ spread across the family room couch, where he’s spent all day binge watching _West Wing_. He’s still in his sweats and Harry’s shirt, which Gemma only gave him shit for, like, eighty times today.

“Gemma," he whines, "I’m hungry.”

“Then go get food,” she responds from her seat on the floor, scrolling through her phone, rudely uninterested in his starvation.

“You’re starving me on purpose." He tries to kick her, but his feet can't reach that far down. The woes of being 5 foot 6. "Harry would never do such a thing. He made me breakfast, in fact. A full egg on toast, he’s a much better host than you are. When did you say he’s coming back again?”

“Subtle,” she snorts. “Nice shirt by the way. Are you going to wear it forever and never wash it?

“No. I’m just going to wear it right now, obviously. I’m not a creep, it’s just comfortable.” He takes her moment of distraction by Instagram to smell the collar again. It's just as wonderful as he remembers.

“Is that why you’re always sniffing it?” She doesn't even turn her head; she just knows.

Louis gasps in horror. “This is betrayal and complete anarchy! I need Harry to come home and be nice to me and end my hunger pains.” He shifts, rolling gracelessly off the couch and smack on top of Gemma.

She flips him immediately, pinning Louis down by sitting on his stomach. This has happened before, so it's truly no surprise to him and he doesn’t try to fight it. “Well I don’t know when he’s going to be home, so. Do you want to go out for food? Will you stop being so whiny?”

He sighs, acting extremely put out. "Ugh, I suppose we could. If we must leave the house, well, you've gotta do what you've gotta do."

She examines him. "You're still a weirdo. Now go get dressed. We're going to sushi." Gemma rolls off of him and she's out the doorway.

"You know sushi is one of my least favorite favorites," he huffs.

Nevertheless, he's fully dressed ten minutes later and waiting on Gemma in the family room. It's completely dark outside, winter beginning to usher in all of its gloom and bright moons, and the television’s playing some _HGTV_ show on mute. He turns off the overhead lights and lets the television attempt to light up the low-rise room. It's entrancing, watching the colors play off the shadowed furniture. It reminds him of when he used to stay up late watching television while his mom put all of his sisters to bed. He felt like such a big kid.

"Gemma’s not asleep, is she?"

Louis jolts towards the light switch in reaction to the unnamed voice, flipping them on faster than he thought possible.

“Oh my god, Harry! You scared me, you little shit,” He throws his hand over his heart, honestly startled.

“Sorry,” comes the sheepish reply.

“No, it’s okay. Just, I don’t know this house and geez. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Harry reaches out, brushing Louis’ upper arm. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to actually scare you,” He peers at him with his Disney princess eyes, completely heartfelt. But then his thumb catches on the inside of Louis’ bicep and Louis’ breath catches in his throat. What kind of witchcraft is this?

He’s just about to ask about said witchcraft when Harry promptly drops his arm, breaking eye contact to focus on a point beyond him.

“Hey, Gemma. Thought you were asleep,” he mumbles.

She snorts, muttering something along the lines of, “You wish.” The boys ignore the comment, each hoping she doesn’t elaborate any further. The last thing they need is Gemma Styles against them. “Louis and I are going to dinner, Harry.” Her eyes are glued to Louis. He shoots her a glance back.

“Where are you going?”

“Sushi,” she answers pointedly, giving Louis another look. He glares back out of confusion.

“I love sushi! You’ll love it, Louis,” He smiles genuinely, his enthusiasm nauseatingly contagious.

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhh_.“Do you want to come? I’ve spent enough time alone with your sister. She can be a bit much sometimes.” He whispers the last part, earning a giggle out of Harry.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

Louis thinks that if eyes really are the windows to the soul, Harry's soul must be nothing but a dancing sea of endless green.

And then they're off, riding through the town while stealing glances of the neon lights playing off one another's skin. Gemma and Louis are seated in the front, Harry in the back seat like he's chaperoning their first date. An indie band plays through the car stereo at Harry's request; turns out he and Gemma have the same taste in music. It’s no surprise to Louis. But while he's in the habit of complaining about Gemma's favorite bands, he thinks he can trust Harry's taste in the singer crooning, "I know you want to leave so come on, baby, be with me so happily."

Their dinner spot is a hole in the wall called ‘Sushi Sushi.’ Inside it’s decorated in black and red and a low glow coming from paper lanterns fills the room. It’s unclear if the dreamy effect is purposeful or a result of being near the end of November, but it’s romantic either way.

“Three, please,” Gemma states, and a beaming Harry swoops his hand in the direction of the hostess, indicating for Louis to go first. If it weren’t for his roommate’s presence, he’d feel like this was a proper date with her brother (especially after Harry sits across from him and ‘accidently’ briefly tangles his feet up in Louis’).

“Are you bloody serious? I swear if you two play footsies all night I’ll kill you.” She glares at them both over her menu, sending the message loud and clear.

Louis reads over his menu, ignoring the now two inches of space between his and Harry’s feet. He didn’t know it was possible to feel heat radiating off of someone’s toes in an attractive way, yet here he is, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. Harry sits across from him, studying his own menu with a very smug look on his face.

“Welcome to Sushi Sushi. I’m Alex, your waiter, and I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. What can I start you off with to drink?” He’s addressing the whole table, but as expected, he’s looking only at Gemma.

_Typical_. This happens whenever they go out. Granted, she only flirts back but never brings them home, unlike Louis, who has made a couple of questionable decisions in his life. And it’s not like Louis even wants the waiter’s attention when he has a hot, charming, six-foot prince sat across from him, practically playing footsies with him, but still. It’s the principle of the matter or something like that.

“Do you want to go first, Louis?” The low voice brings him out of his contemplation.

“What, sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted to order first. You’ve been staring at the wall for a while now and since you’re the guest I thought you might want to go first…” Harry explains hesitantly.

“Yes, of course.” What amazing manners this boy has. “I’ll have the...” his eyes jump to the first thing on the menu, “Wet Dream, please.”

Gemma shakes her head, pursing her lips to contain a laugh. “What an excellent choice,” she comments sarcastically. “I’ll have the Rolls Royce, please.”

Alex smiles widely and bats his eyes at her before turning to Harry. "And for you?"

"I'll have the Bikini Bottom, please."

"Alright, and I'll be right back with your drinks." Then, with one last glance in Gemma’s direction, he’s off. Louis rolls his eyes and begins to gag the moment he's out of earshot. He exaggeratedly sticks his tongue out, lolling his eyes back and huffing.

Harry notices his antics, couldn't avoid watching Louis even if he wanted to, and barks out an honest-to-god horse noise.

They both freeze, staring at him. He immediately covers his mouth with both hands as if he’s afraid another neigh will escape from the clutches of his throat if he doesn’t.

"I- I've never made that noise before," he whispers through his fingers. "That was a mistake and I think I should leave here for the rest of my life."

Gemma bursts out laughing, tears actually pooling in the corners of her eyes. "What was that? You've never done that before, oh my gosh, H!"

The comment causes him to flush even more, crossing from thoughts like _that was bad_ to _I'm leaving the country and changing my name_.

"I'm just going to go wait in the car now before I ruin my life forever." He makes to scoot his chair back, half-kidding and half-trying to really make a break for the bathroom. But Louis quickly hooks both his toes around one of Harry's ankles, effectively capturing his attention.

"Stay," he states simply. Louis ignores Gemma’s cackling and instead focuses on bringing Harry back. “Hey, one time my school planned a fight week.”

Gemma perks at the sudden change of subject. “Literally no one cares, Louis,” she jokes.

Before Louis gets the chance to stick his tongue out at her, Harry interrupts. “Excuse you, I care.”

They both gape at him, unsure of whether or not he’s joking along. Louis unwraps his chopsticks and plays with them just to do something. He’s saved from answering when Gemma mutters, “Of course you do, lover boy,” and they’re both smiling again, eyes flirting over each other’s glances as if they’re twelve. “Wait, am I a third wheel?”

“I always thought of you as more of the Duracell bunny than a wheel. You two remind me of one another," Louis contemplates.

"We are all equal wheels here," Harry adds, nodding sagely.

"Ugh, you two are absolutely horrible. Why did I think this was a good idea?" she mutters.

"Shh, Gemma," Harry turns his full attention to Louis, grinning with excitement. Louis prides himself on deflating his uncomfort. "Tell me about fight week. We never had any fights; it was so boring," he drawls.  

He's so flattering. Louis needs someone like Harry in his life to keep his ego afloat.

"So it was senior year, and these football players decided to have a bloody fight every day for a week. They even made a Facebook page, which just goes to show how technologically involved they are, and they coerced underclassmen into signing up. They said it gave them honor or glory or some dumb high school thing that almost mattered," he scoffs. "Anyways, people thought they were kings, so of course the sign-ups poured in. The first one started Monday morning in the middle of the quad. Right when the warning bell rang, two girls just went right at it. Started yelling and pulling hair and throwing punches. People were recording, and it took three minutes before administration even knew there was a problem. Practically the whole school saw it. After that it just kept going.”

Harry’s completely fixated on the story. While Louis is used to people half-listening to him and pretending to like him when he gets too loud, he doesn’t experience the real thing very often.

“On Tuesday it was a couple breaking up during lunch. Wednesday, two boys in the parking lot. Thursday, two boys in the bathrooms, and Friday was three-on-three in the quad after school. That one was completely insane. As in switchblade-strangle-hold-I-hate-your-mom insane. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks, administration included. There were rumors going around that the football assistant coach hid the fights by faking the camera footage. Fight week was wild, honestly.”

“How did they not stop it? Was it just normal?”

“I think they just didn’t care that much. Maybe they brushed it off as normal behavior or were too busy trying to keep us out of program improvement. Public schools, honestly,” Louis spits. “They need to step up their game.”

“You know I’ve heard that story about nineteen times now and it gets worse every time. Get some new comedic material, honestly," Gemma mocks.

"What, you've got something better, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes I do. Remember that private school H and I went to?"

Louis nods.

"Well, when I was a sophomore, the principal's son was a junior. His name was Zayn Malik and everyone worshipped him. He was absolutely gorgeous, probably a model, and definitely the leader of an illicit drug ring dealing with the whole campus. Zayn was a perfect fantasy." She stops, sipping water and unwrapping her own chopsticks.

"And?" Louis prompts.

"No, that's it. That's my story."

"Are you serious? I was pumped for something great, Gemma. How dare you bring shame to your family?"

"Lou's was way better." Gemma shoots Harry a look, but he only shrugs. "Sorry, it's true!"

"Oh, how young you are," she clucks. "Listen here, little brother. I am about to share a life lesson with you. Are you ready for this?"

Harry nods, humoring her.

"Always leave them wanting more."

He chuckles. "Wow, thank you. I'm so glad you shared that scholarly advice with me."

"As if you didn't already know that." Louis scoffs. He turns to Gemma. "He's very well-versed in leaving people wanting more. Aren't you, Haz?" He doesn't know why he's doing this, this half-flirting half-joking game he's been playing. However, mortifying Gemma and flirting with Harry all at once is a win-win situation in his books. Besides, he can’t stop thinking about this morning in the bathroom doorway.

Both siblings are now staring at him with wide eyes; Gemma's in horror and Harry's in a haze from the night before. His gaze is tangible, something Louis knows he could feel if he wanted to reach out and touch it, to run his hands all over it. Maybe it would be as plush as his lips, or maybe it would be as warm and loving as his whole demeanor.

"Alright, who had the Wet Dream?" Alex the waiter abruptly appears and effectively kills the delicate mood Louis had managed to create.

Louis raises his hand. "That one’s mine." It's placed in front of him, covered in a cream cheese concoction that leaves nothing to the imagination on how the name came about.

"And the Bikini Bottom must be yours," He hands it to Harry. "And the Rolls Royce for you." he finishes with a sweet smile to Gemma. "Anything else?"

"We're perfect. Thanks, love." And he's gone with one more smile.

Eating with chopsticks turns out to be a breeze compared to eating with Harry Styles. Louis only ate the first piece of his roll, which turned out to be very creamy and rich ( _just like a wet dream should be_ ), before his peripheral caught the flash of pink tongue and the gaping mouth. It’s Harry Styles, on the prowl for nutrition in the most erotic way possible. His tongue darts out before each bite, and he widens his jaw as far as possible in order to fit the sushi piece in before his lips practically suction around the chopsticks. There’s no way this can be on purpose, not with his sister sat right beside him. Nevertheless, Louis feels light-headed.

Harry notices him staring. "Do you want to try some?" he offers.

_He's so polite._ A first date has never offered to share their food with him before. Not that he’s currently on a date, but it could be considered a double date if Gemma would've brought an imaginary friend.

Louis doesn't know what he's saying anymore. All this figurative dancing with Harry has worn him out. "No, thank you. Do you want some of mine?" He motions to his plate, only missing one piece. He was too invested in watching Harry eat to eat any of his own food, obviously.

"Only if you'll feed me." Harry offers his Cheshire cat's grin.

Louis picks it up using his chopsticks without hesitation, hoping Harry notices how nimble his fingers are. Harry sits there, mouth slightly open in anticipation and eyes hooded. He's definitely doing _this_ on purpose.

Louis tries to ignore him, refusing to hold eye contact. Instead, he watches where the sushi enters Harry's mouth. He watches his ridiculous tongue, watches his plush lips close around the utensils, watches the way there's a smear of cream cheese left in the corner of his mouth, and, finally, watches the way Harry looks up at him through his lashes. Just when he thinks it can't get any worse- or better-, his tongue flits out to lap the white stain up.

What a wet dream indeed.

"That's it. We're going home right now if you two can't behave," Gemma exclaims. "Check, please!"

 

<<< 

 

Harry locks himself safely in his room moments after they’re home. He opens a group chat with Niall and Liam, floundering around on his bed, buzzing with nerves.

**Harry:** went out to sushi with him & gems tonight... totally nailed it!!!

**Niall:** don't you mean nailed him??

**Harry:** no you donut I mean nailed the seduction techniques as in I am seductive #sexyharry

**Liam:** I've always said to follow ur dreams bt u should also follow ur dick!!!

**Niall:** agreed,,, team #sexyharry!

**Liam:** team #sexyharry!!!!!!!!!!

**Harry:** I hate u all but also appreciate the support <3

 

<<<

 

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving is one of the most popular days at the gym, challenged only by the first of the year. Most are looking to squeeze in that last minute workout before they get consumed by the holidays and pumpkin pie, which is why Harry is scheduled for three morning classes, starting at six. One of the few positives to this is the view of the sun rising outside his studio windows as Saturn fades away.

But today, not even the cosmos can perk him up, and he’s dragging through to his last class, praying by some miracle that no one would show. The clichè that yoga instructors are orbs of zen and endless energy is a complete falsity in Harry's case. He can't wait to get back home and fall in bed until noon.

"So this is your job, huh?"

Harry turns around in the middle of gathering his hair back into a bun. It's Louis; of course it's Louis, with Gemma trailing behind him.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" he greets them. Eight o'clock is a killer time to be voluntarily awake.

"Gemma wanted to come," he explains. Taking them in, Harry notices they both look half asleep. Gemma looks like Gemma, but Louis looks like a soft, sleepy lion cub that Harry wants to snuggle for hours. He may also be a bit sleep deprived.

"Ha! More like you wanted to come, you liar," Gemma elbows him. Louis shrugs, grinning unashamed. Harry returns the look, his solar plexus warming. "You two are disgusting. Where are the mats?"

"Over there." He points to the closet where the mats are stored and tells them how to set up. They leave Harry to finish getting ready, Gemma going with a sigh and Louis a wink. He's definitely in love and he can't believe his luck. Not only is Louis hot as fuck, he's emotionally attractive as well. No boy has ever come to this class just to see Harry; if nothing else, they'll be exchanging blowjobs before this week is over (he'll make sure of it).  

Class starts out smooth enough. Louis and Gemma are directly in front of Harry, a couple rows back. He doesn't even remember the mirrors encompassing the studio walls until he has them bend down to touch their toes and gets a solid view of Louis' very solid butt. He very nearly drops to his knees right then, but manages to stop his staring by the time everyone's heads are popping up. His self control amazes him. He should write an inspirational book, _How to Seduce Your Soulmate the Right Way Without Getting Caught._

And then he gets an idea, an appropriate one. His class goes into their weekly hold of the Downward Dog position- hands and feet solid on the ground, butts high in the air- and he begins to stroll the studio. Correcting students is nothing new. _Expand your horizons,_ he always says. Just like the congratulatory card he received from his mum when his college acceptance letters came through. _Expand my horizons…_

He makes small comments to students along the way, noises of praise or correction of hips. He reaches Louis' mat, halting close by.

"May I?" he whispers. Louis' head nods in consent where it's hanging between his shoulders. His hand runs along Louis' lower back, where his body is starting to sag, and where his t-shirt isn't covering. The skin there is still golden, radiating heat like a playground blacktop. Harry easily pictures him lying out in the sun for hours and hours, running around shirtless on the beach or a soccer field. He admits he may have stalked Louis' newest social media- Instagram- earlier and has seen said photographs.

"Push into my hand," he instructs. "Bring your bottom higher to the ceiling." He brushes his hand over the area once more, ghosting his nails briefly over the exposed skin. _I am a professional. A totally complete professional doing sexy, professional things._

Despite his inner monologue, he feels Louis' spine shift as his breath hitches. Feels the tremors in his body seconds before his limbs give out and he falls, landing face first.

Gemma snickers from where she's holding the pose perfectly. Harry can't believe his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he whispers frantically.

"Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally, I'm bruised." His face is squished against the mat, body sprawled out and giving up. Harry thinks he could paint the entire solar system on his back, also thinks that his astronomy class is getting him too deep.

"Um, please walk your hands forward, lowering into a pushup all the way to the floor and resting there." _The show must go on._ Harry walks away and practices aforementioned self control, not focusing on Louis too long for the rest of class.

 

<<< 

 

Louis catches up with him in the parking lot, sun still slowly rising in the sky due to the time of year. It’s cold for the area too. Anything under seventy degrees sends him into goosebump territory.

"Haz!" He turns around, Louis greeting him as he jogs over, Vans slapping the pavement. "Gemma ditched me while I was using the bathroom. Can I get a ride with you?" He brushes his fringe back from where it fans across his forehead.

He feels warmer just with Louis around. "Of course,” he tries to inject some of that feeling into his reply. They walk towards Harry’s car together, shoulders close to brushing. “How’d you like class?”

Leaves fall around them, cascading to the pavement.

“You’re a proper instructor. Felt like I was back in primary school with your accent and all.”

Harry scoffs. “Excuse me, you’re saying I remind you of old primary school teachers from rainy, dreary England?”

“It’s not an insult! I like England,” he explains. “Plus, I never said that. You’re much more attractive than any teacher I’ve ever had.” He winks, he’s always winking, but one eye could’ve just been blinded by the sun at that exact moment. Stranger things have happened.

Regardless, Harry smiles genuinely as he unlocks the car. “Get in, my young pupil.”  

"Yes, teacher." The banter slides easily off his lips. They buckle up in silence, settling in. "Your car suits you," he mentions offhand.

"Ha, ha. Very funny, _Lewis_. A 90's Toyota mini-truck suits me? Is this some kind of joke as in 'I, much like my car, stall a lot?’" The cab is surprisingly warm, and it settles in their bones.

"No, I'm serious! This is a cute, slightly rugged car, much like yourself. Plus, it's stick shift!" he exclaims as Harry starts to back up. "I bet you take all your dates in here just to show them how good you are with your hands."

"No dates have had the pleasure, actually."

"They drive you, or?"

"You're very good at dancing around the question," he laughs. "I haven't been on a date in a while. I had one in June but he drove," Harry shrugs, turning into the street. "I'm sorta waiting until college. There's no point in starting now when I'll be gone by next year."

"A true romantic, Styles. You're going to UCLA, right?" Harry nods. "That's close to where Gemma and I are." He nods again, but doesn’t say more on the subject. Louis drops it.

They ride in comfortable silence, a singer crooning, _charting Neptune by the fire of the sun, kept looking for new constellations_ , as Louis watches the town pass by. Hotel after gas station after grocery store.

"How'd you end up in California, then?" Louis asks.

"Gemma didn't tell you?" He sounds surprised.

"Vaguely," he waves his hands. “I'd rather hear it from you though. I like your voice. It's grumbly and earthy, very pleasant."

Harry flushes and can feel it up to his hairline. "Well, it's a bit like your story. We grew up in Cheshire until I was nine, then moved to London for my dad's publishing job. It was alright there, rained a lot, like you said. It took us to Los Angeles when I was twelve, and that I absolutely loved. Well, the traffic’s the worst-"

"The worst!" Louis agrees.

"But there were trees and beaches and sunshine and so many things to do. By far one of my most favorite places in the world." He’s pining, but his words buzz full of life.

"How'd you get up here then?"

"Divorce,” he sighs. “He cheated with his bloody secretary so we moved up here three years ago, right before Gemma's senior year. My mum was worried about her, but she wouldn't let us stay in the city. Gemma was the first to pack her boxes and the first to offer mum a shoulder to cry on. She knew we needed to get away."

Louis reaches out, brushing his fingers over Harry's arm before resting his hand on his. It doesn't engulf Harry's, quite the opposite really, but Harry still feels secure.

"I'm sorry," Louis murmurs, squeezing his hand on the gear shift before letting go, his hand retreating to his own lap.

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but you just looked glum. Your mouth turned down and your lips jutted out. Just like Bambi after he watched his mom die."

He scrunches his nose up, quite cutely in Louis' opinion. "Bambi didn't really have lips, though."

Louis thinks about it, turning it over in his mind before agreeing. "You're like a frog then. A sad, cute frog."

Harry snorts at that comparison, but Louis is too busy watching his smile break out and worry lines smooth over to notice. "I'm a frog? A dorky, ugly frog? Please, Louis, tell me how you really feel."

"No, more like those cute baby frogs you find in ponds. My sisters used to steal them in hopes they would grow up at our house, but they would always die," he trails off. "But anyway, the point still remains. You are a cute baby frog." He pinches Harry's cheek, swatted away instantly as they pull into the driveway.

"At least buy me dinner before you get handsy with my cheeks, you donut." They clamber out of the truck as Louis laughs to himself. He's very familiar with that particular insult; the Styles children don't stray too far from one another.

They move to the kitchen for a glass of water, Harry snatching a note off the kitchen counter. Louis hands him a full glass before downing his own and filling it up once more.

"My mum ran to the grocery store, so she could be a couple hours." He's taking tiny sips of his water. "Gemma's here but I think she's probably napping."

"Hmm, smart girl. What are you gonna do, Froggy?"

"Stop," he drags the word out, clearly biting back a laugh. "I'm going to take a nap as well, munchkin."

"Oi, I'm wounded! Insulting my height, Styles? Our relationship can never be repaired."

"Somehow I think you'll be able to go on." He picks up both of their glasses, placing them in the sink. "You're going to nap, too?"

"Yep," Louis motions through the wall towards his makeshift bed.

Harry grins sleepily. "See you in a bit then." And he's disappearing up the stairs and into his room.

Harry barely undresses, just switches his leggings out for a pair of boxers, before he crawls into his bed. He's just gotten comfortable when there's a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Louis, of course, is on the other side. "Hey."

"Hey," he sits up in bed, leaning against his pillows. "Miss me already?"

"Ha, very funny." Louis steps into the room, the door clicking behind him. "Actually, looks like your mom had a field day digging out Thanksgiving decorations. They're currently all over my bed. And this might be a bit weird, but I'm really tired and do you think I could maybe sleep in here? I don't mind taking the floor, or if you're not okay with it I can go, but-"

"Louis." He stops mumbling when Harry scoots over and pats the space next to him on the bed. "It's okay. Of course you can sleep in here."

But Louis still hesitates. It's not that Louis doesn't trust himself, because he’s usually a polite, self-sufficient young adult and of course he trusts himself. It’s more that he hasn't had a wank in five days and this is practically a twin bed and what if he wakes up with a boner and Harry notices before he can sneak off and fix it? It would be all his worst nightmares come true. However, all it takes is a concerned look from Harry and a flash of his dimples before he decides _it’s fine_ and _of course that won't happen._

He stays clothed, as he had already swapped his sweat-soaked shirt for Harry's clean one a few minutes before. Also, Harry’s being very kind to Louis and the last thing he wants to do is make him uncomfortable in return.

They stay on top of the covers, lying stiff on their backs and trying not to touch. All they hear is the low hum of the heater and the evenness of the other’s breath.

"This is silly," Harry turns his head towards Louis. "Are you comfortable?"

He shrugs, softly replying, "No."

"Me either." He clears his throat in admission. "There's no reason our shoulders can't touch, really. Come here, this bed's too small for us to be like this." They scoot towards the middle, sides meeting and hearts minutely fluttering.

Harry's so exhausted and he just want to relax. "Here, let me just..." He grabs Louis' arm and moves it around his shoulders, shifting so that he's practically snuggled into his chest. He can feel his heart beating.

"Is this okay?"

Louis huffs, acting put out. His head moves with his chest, and he can feel each syllable rumble in his diaphragm before it's pushed out.  "Hmm, is it okay that you're a cute boy turned yoga instructor turned sleepy cat?" Harry smiles. _Cute._ "Yes, H, somehow I think I'll manage."

"Good." He snuggles closer, not wrapping his body around Louis like he would normally do with his friends, but just enjoying the warmth and company. "You're cute, too. Like a little lion," he adds as an afterthought.

He expects a laugh, but a hand lands in his hair instead. He barely bites back a purr. "Go to sleep, Harry," Louis whispers.

"Goodnight, Louis." And he's a deadweight within thirty seconds.

 

<<< 

 

Harry wakes up slowly, fighting off the sleep attempting to pull him under again because he knows if he goes for much longer, he'll never fall asleep tonight. And with Black Friday just days away, he can't risk distorting his sleep schedule even more.

Clearly, in his mind, he knows these things. In his body, not so much. He hasn't had this good of a sleep in ages and he's _so_ comfortable right now. He's snuggled against someone's solid, expanding chest- _Louis'_ , his mind supplies- and their arms are twined around him. He feels safe and secure, like he'll never have another nightmare again and if he does, Louis will kick their ass to protect his honor. His nose is tucked in Harry's crown, breath tickling the back of his neck. _Just ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes like this._ He closes his eyes and holds onto the sensation.

"I know you're awake, you weirdo." He cracks one eye open and sits up to find Louis smiling, eyes still closed.

“Ugh, how’d you know?”

“I could feel your eyelashes fluttering against my chest,” he admits.

Harry coughs, can feel himself flushing pink. “Oh, how intimate,” he deflects. But then suddenly, Louis is right there, looking at him as if he’d hung the stars and landed on the moon, and Harry feels shy. Freckles dot his nose, brought out by sun exposure. Harry believes he could count every single one if he had the time. Maybe play connect-the-dots only to end up drawing hearts all over his face. It could be fun.

The sound of the garage door opening bursts their bubble of _HarryandLouis_.

Harry lies flat and stretches out, Louis watching him. “That’ll be my mum. We’ve only been out for an hour,” he observes, checking his watch.

Louis rolls off the bed. “Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“Yeah, of course. Anytime, really. I had a great time,” He clears his throat, trying to ignore his own rambling. Louis is smirking now, pleased.

They break out in giggles like schoolboys would at innocent jokes.

“Come on.” Harry pulls on sweats and leads the way out, Louis closing the door behind them.

Anne’s downstairs, unloading the groceries. “Boys!” She gives them both a kiss on the cheek. “How’d you like class, Louis? Was it as awful as Gemma said it would be?”

“Hey!” Harry exclaims. “I thought it was Gemma’s idea. Why would she insult me so?”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic.” She hands him chicken to put in the fridge. “It was Louis’ idea, anyways.”

Harry catches his eye right in time to see him smiling bashfully. He’s properly cute with pink-tinted cheeks and mussed hair from their nap, but he doesn’t dwell on the bedhead and flushed cheeks for too long. He’s a man on a mission, and right now it’s to woo Louis with his amazing cooking skills.

“How can I help?”

Anne surveys the kitchen. “Help me prep the turkey, love?”

“Of course,” he replies happily. Preparing the main dish is an honor in many cultures.  

“What can I do?” Louis asks.

“Can you come over here and add the eggs in? Whisk it until it’s smooth, please.” She turns towards the fridge leaving Louis half-frozen.

Louis shuffles next to Harry. "Harry," he whispers.

" 'Sup?" he whispers back, hand snaking up the turkey’s ass.

"First of all, stop violating the turkey."

"I'm just cleaning it!"

"What a house-husband," he rolls his eyes but bites back a smile. "Second of all, how do you whisk?"

Harry's jaw drops. "You don't know how to whisk?"

"Uh, no? Just tell me or something," he huffs. Harry finds it adorable.

"Okay, so flick your wrist in circles really fast and everything will blend together." He observes Louis' sad attempt- he's beating it more than whisking- and decides to rinse off his hands.

"Like this?"

"Not quite." He steps behind Louis, caging him in. "Like this," he mumbles, lips almost to his ear.

His hand engulfs Louis' around the whisk handle and Louis tries not to get hot and bothered by it. Only Louis finds that hard when there is literally a hot guy wrapped around him, being a bother. As sexist as it may be, he's always been a bit of a sucker for the 'big strong man' stereotype. Someone to pin him down while they ride him or hold him against a wall while he's being fucked. Harry could do that; Louis is sure yoga translates to superhuman strength if the way Harry's forearm moves against his own is any indication. He falls a bit further into Harry's chest.

"See?" His words tickle Louis’ ear. "You're whisking, Lou." He is whisking, though Harry's doing most of the work. His voice helps bring him back, and Louis stands up a bit straighter, telling himself to snap out of it. A family kitchen is no place to get half hard.

They continue to whisk as one until Harry ruins everything and licks the side of Louis' face.

"Gross, Styles! Super gross." He wiggles out of Harry's grip, missing his dumb warmth. "Get your dirty paws off of me and back up that turkey’s butt where they belong."

“As if you didn’t love it,” he mutters. Oh the things he would do right now to wipe that smirk off his mouth. Particularly the options that use Louis’ mouth to do the job.

But for now, he just grins, and goes back to whisking. Neither of them notice when Anne finally stops watching them, but she thinks that’s just as well.

 

<<< 

 

Harry’s phone buzzes for the fifth time tonight from where it’s snuggled in his pocket. Honestly, screw these group texts. He tries to slip his hand under the table to silence it, but fails the stealth mission once again.

“Harry,” Gemma sighs, sounding put out. “Do you have a boyfriend you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” She doesn’t miss the way Louis looks up from his salad, suddenly interested.

Harry rolls his eyes. “What? No, Gemma. You know I don’t. I’m very, completely single,” he emphasizes the phrase, eyes darting towards Louis briefly. “I have no boyfriend.”

“Hmm, how interesting.” Gemma smirks like she’s biting back a secret, now focusing on her dinner. Which is absolutely not an option when Louis must defend Harry’s honor.

“What, Gemma? What’s so interesting?” Louis inquires.

“Nothing, Lou.”

Louis scoffs in response, sticking his tongue out at her like any mature adult male would do.

Gemma tries again, a hint of teasing in her tone. “Maybe if you ask nicely…”

“Gemma, oh beautiful Gemma, with your flowing hair and snarky comebacks, please tell me what prompts you so to bother poor Harry about his personal life,” He flutters his eyelashes for good measure. Only the best for the Harry Defense Squad.

“I’m not bothering Harry. I was only going to say how interesting it is because you don’t have a boyfriend either.”

Harry and Louis’ eyes dart towards each other, the both of them awkwardly staring each other down over the bowl of snap peas.

“What a coincidence it is that you’re both single, hmmm?”

In his mind, Harry knows Louis is single. Or is at least pretty sure based on their continuous flirting and lack of boyfriend photos on Instagram. Either way, he knows. But hearing it out loud, stated as a fact, is much different than just assuming. It gives him hope for a better, less single tomorrow, if you know what he means.

“Excuse me, boys. Could one of you pass the snap peas?” Robin asks, looking pleased as a peach.

Louis winks, ending their staring competition and handing the snap peas over. Harry winks back five seconds too late, but reasons Louis still knows his intentions. His mom has always said it's the thought that counts.

 

<<< 

 

It's nearing eleven when Harry finally settles down on the couch to watch _Gossip Girl_. It's not often he gets to use the regular television for Netflix, and even less often when he uses it for _Gossip Girl_. The plot line requires complete concentration that can only be acquired in an empty- or sleeping- house. Thus, he too often resorts to his laptop for his viewing pleasure.

He's in the middle of a more complicated episode- it's Thanksgiving, Dan and Serena are back together, and Bart's returned- when he hears footsteps down the hallway. He quickly pauses the episode, worried it's Gemma and she's here to ruin everything by telling him who Gossip Girl really is. She's been known to torment him with that when she needs a favor, and Harry will protect his television show spoilers with all costs.

It’s just Louis though. He's wrapped up in a blue blanket from the hall closet and his hair is soft from a shower. He's like a slow burning star.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"Hi," Harry answers. "What's up?"

Louis shrugs, the blanket moving in a lump around his shoulders. "Watching _Gossip Girl_?" Harry nods. "Screw Serena," he hisses.

"Screw Serena?"

"I've always felt she was a bit of a diva. Too much, in fact," he replies, holding his blanket paws up and looking nothing short of cute as a button.

He brushes his hair back, all the better to see this cutie walking towards him without the distraction of a few stray hairs. "That's quite funny, coming from you."

"You trying to say something, Styles?" He scoffs.

"Yeah, Louis whatever-your-last-name-is, I am."

"It's Tomlinson."

Harry believes that's the most beautiful last name he's ever heard. "Well, Tomlinson, I'm trying to say you're a bit of a diva yourself."

"I am wounded!" He staggers his walk and falls to the couch. "How could you ever think such a thing?"

"Well, you're...you." Louis just stares, unimpressed by Harry’s blubbering. "You're just simply perfect all the time, your looks and your aura, and everyone loves you, so." And, well, shit. There goes any chance of keeping his attraction to him a secret. Not that he’s held any chance before, but now he definitely doesn't.

"You think my aura is perfect?" Louis’ eyes are barely twinkling, like they hold galaxies light years away.

"Your aura is incredible," he mutters earnestly.

"That means a lot coming from an aura professional. I'm so glad I can correctly classify my aura now. Thank you, Doctor Semblance," he teases. Harry tosses a throw pillow at him in retaliation, but lets the subject go.

They sit there staring at the paused scene. The cast is sat at an elegant table, preparing to feast.

"It's fitting with Thanksgiving tomorrow, I suppose," Louis notes.

Harry tucks his toes under Louis’ blanket, scooting closer for warmth. "You suppose?"

"Yeah, I've never actually celebrated Thanksgiving. Obviously this isn't my home, and why would I celebrate taking land from people just because we had guns? Not to mention the massive cultural genocide that followed, but..." He trails off, point made.

"Exactly," Harry agrees. "We don't do the whole 'celebrate-the-pilgrims' deal. We take it more as a time to reflect and spend time together, to seriously be thankful we have one another. I really like the idea of giving thanks and just being grateful, really. It's got to play into karma somehow."

_But wow, what a pure soul._ How has he reached the age of eighteen without being jaded? Without his shine dulling? He's so lovely; Louis needs some answers. It can't be natural, there had to be organic chemistry or something likewise here at play.

Harry’s speaking again. "You've never had a Thanksgiving then?"

Louis shakes his head. "Nope. Just a long week off from school to do nothing. My sisters absolutely tormented me though if I stayed in my room for longer than eight hours without playing with them." His voice is warm, but Harry can tell he's trying to sound annoyed. It's only aiding his cute-as-a-button aesthetic, and he's immensely charmed.

"How many sisters do you have?"

"Five and one baby brother," he says proudly. The twinkling galaxies in his eyes have grown brighter, now like neighboring stars.

Harry knows he's mirroring the expression when he blurts out, "I love babies."

"Me too." Louis blinks slowly.

Chills run down Harry's spine involuntarily. They should definitely have children together. Three children, hopefully at least one girl, living wherever Louis wants with a big house and a large bed and the softest sheets.

"You're shivering, love. Are you cold?" interrupts his day dreams.

"Er, yeah," he says elegantly. Louis stands, unraveling himself from the blanket and laying it over Harry. He lifts up the corner and scoots in next to him, throwing his legs over his lap and cuddling up to his side. The paused television light ripples across their faces.

"Better?" Louis whispers in his ear. Harry barely manages to stop his shivers before they begin. "Much better," he whispers and he snuggles in closer, trying to plaster himself to all corners of Louis' body. They stay silent, wrapped up in each other's thoughts.

"Want to hear another public school story?" Louis asks.

When Harry nods this time, his curls tickle Louis' face. It's kind of perfect.

"When I was in sixth grade there was a kid named Carlos, and he didn't have a lot of pals. Then again, no one did, but he didn't have a lot of pals because he was super annoying. There was a story going around one Monday about this cool group of kids who had a drinking party over the weekend and got 'super wasted' but really it was just apple cider."

"Twelve-year-olds gone wild," Harry notes.

"Exactly. So Carlos wanted to fit in, right? Get a lot of pals, you know. So later that week he showed up with a flask of vodka that he took down to school breakfast and sneakily poured in his boxed orange juice. Then, he took the orange juice around before classes and offered it to potential pals and, I kid you not, every single kid spit it back out at him. There was orange juice spills up and down the halls and the teachers eventually noticed and, anyways, he got suspended. It was a big deal back in sixth grade, though in high school I met a couple people who kept water bottles filled with vodka on their desks. They never got busted though... students these days."

"Teachers these days," Harry concludes, leaning so his cheek touches Louis' nose. "They've gone wild as well."

Another silence settles over them and they exist through it, just appreciating each other's presence. Harry eventually reaches out for the remote and unpauses the remaining twenty minutes of the episode as an excuse to keep Louis there a little while longer, head dropped and resting on his chest. Though, admittedly, it’s quite hard to focus on anything other than the way they fit against one another. He doesn't even know what happened to Bart's limo by the time the credits are rolling through. How could he when he can feel Louis' breath on his collarbones and his tiny ankles digging into his thigh? He’s like a pixie; delicate, beautiful, and mischievous. A pixie prince, basically.

Louis eventually rises from his chest, face turned towards Harry's profile and practically falling into it. "Are you tired?" he asks, and Harry can feel his lips move against his where they rest on his jaw. He wonders if Louis can still feel his heartbeat, because it’s just increased at least ten-fold.

"Yeah," Harry lies. "Are you?"

"Nope. Not at all." More ghosting over his jaw, more heartbeats per minute. He knows what happens next, but wonders if he'll die before he gets the chance to find out how kissing Louis feels. Move over Apollo 13, there's a new tragedy in town. (He’s just kidding. Apollo 13 was a nightmare and a very real and serious deal.)

Still, though. The problem remains. "What do you wanna do then?" He faces Louis, trying to line their noses up until they're so close that they’re breathing in each other's exhales. Their eyelashes are fluttering against the other’s cheekbones, flirting shyly back and forth much like the two boys they belong to.

Harry holds his breath, waiting for Louis to make a move. He focuses on his inhale, exhale, in, out.

"Can I kiss you?"

It's so faint Harry's worried he’s imagined it, worried he’s dreamt up one of the best dreams ever. But then Louis’ lips stop moving against his cheek and he knows it's real. Nerve endings tremor up and down his whole body and he leans in until their foreheads touch.

"Yes, Louis, please," he practically whines.

"Always so polite," Louis mutters and their lips finally find each other's. It's affectionate, his lips tasting like the candy floss and apricot cookies they had for dessert. Louis is shy at first so Harry gasps for more, tries to tilt his head back and open him up, to see all that he can discover. It works, and before he knows it, their tongues bump and slide together. It's sure and safe and Louis keeps sighing in a high pitch, which does some things to Harry. He wants to lock the sounds up, pull them out for replay every day so he can be reminded of just how hot Louis Tomlinson is. Now's not the time, though, so he focuses on kissing Louis back, sweet, deep, and slow.

They eventually pull back to breathe, gasping for air hysterically. Louis' lips are shiny, his face absolutely flushed, supernovas shining through his blown-out eyes. It's an image that could spur Harry on for hours and hours.

They dive in again, and again, and again. Louis' mouth is so clever, nibbling, biting, and sucking at every right opportunity, and Harry feels so gone. If it was his last day on Earth, he would want to spend every second of it remembering what this kiss feels like. (And saying good-bye to family, friends, and loved ones, but the point is that this kiss is fantastic.)

"That was amazing. You're an exquisite kisser, Styles."

Harry’s still running his hands up and down Louis’ back, while Louis’ hands are still buried in his hair and tucked around his side.

He giggles; he can't help himself. "As are you, Tomlinson." He feels like he's back in grade school, going through puberty and learning how other boys like to be touched all over again.

They're still close enough to count each other's eyelashes or write poetry about the freckles sprinkled across each other's cheekbones, but they just pull towards and fall into one another, snuggling up under the blanket again.

Harry's been holding Louis for at least fifteen minutes, eyes closed, head back, and closer to sleep than to liveliness, when he feels a sweet kiss pressed to his jawline. He hums in response, only waking up fully when Louis starts to shift. He tightens his arms, trying to cage him in. _Those damn pixies are always moving._

"If I don't go to bed now I'll fall asleep here, Harry," Louis laughs.

"Good. Stay," Harry mutters sleepily.

"I can't, babe. What if someone finds us and kicks me out? I'll never have the proper Styles Thanksgiving Experience."

Oh, Harry hasn't thought of that. Hasn't thought of his family's reactions to him getting together with a house guest. Granted, it’s Louis, so he really couldn't be blamed, but Louis is right. He’s smart, too. Such a smart cookie.

"Ugeh, okay, _Lewis_. You're free to go." He relaxes his arms, releasing him from the Harry Cage. "Leave me to grow old and die."

"Stop." Louis kisses his cheek, readjusting and also catching the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you tomorrow, you loser."

"Hm, I suppose." He lets Louis crawl away with a final peck to his nose. He stumbles slightly in the doorway, leaving the blanket with Harry.

"Goodnight, Harry," he whispers softly.

"Goodnight, Louis," Harry mirrors, and soon they both have dopey grins painting their faces.

"Goodnight," he says one last time, before turning and walking down the hall.

Harry stays on the couch for another ten minutes just thinking about Louis and that kiss and _Louis._

It's almost one by the time he crawls into his room, the perfect time for stargazing. He pulls the shutters from his window, looking out for Saturn, but he's met with a thick blanket of clouds. Instead, he notes how the moonlight spills through the barriers and onto his neighbor’s roof and front yard. _Bathed in moonlight, soaked in moonlight, blankets and blankets of moonlight._

He falls asleep not too long after, wondering if moonlight really does possess the power of love.

 

<<< 

 

Harry wakes up before his alarm sounds, sunlight piercing through his window and straight through his bed sheets. He's sweating, still wrapped in the throw blanket. He’s wearing fleece pajamas; he doesn't fall asleep with pants on often. Kissing Louis must have taken a lot out of him.

He jolts up, shoving the throw off of himself. He kissed Louis. Last night, his mouth was literally touching Louis’ mouth on purpose and his tongue was in said mouth, touching said tongue. He now knows Louis' vocal range grows so much higher when he sighs and it was hands down the best kissing experience of his whole life. Granted, he’s only kissed a handful of people thus far, but only kissing Louis for the rest of his life sounds like a very good deal.

He’s still lying there, fingers touching his lips, when the alarm finally blares. His arm flails out, grasping for the damn phone and cutting off the cacophony.  A “ _Thanksgiving 2k15!!!!_ ” alert pops up from his calendar. Harry stands up, cracks his back (then groans; he’s always had a bad back), and rolls his neck.

“Let’s do this,” he whispers to no one but himself.

 

<<< 

 

Louis wakes up three minutes later, smiling dopily at the same memory and thrilled for what's to come.

(He's not scared about hurting Harry's heart. Not that much, anyways.)

 

<<< 

 

Ever since he could wobble his way around a kitchen, Harry's been there. He started out following his mom around, always staring longingly at the the cookie dough or cake batter until he was awarded a taste. He learned his way around the electric mixer and oven preheats. In London, their flat had an enormous stove where he learned the words 'simmer' and 'caramelize'. In Los Angeles, they found a granite countertop for slicing, dicing, and chopping.

Julia Child showed him how to make cooking fun, while his mom showed him how to cook with love. He learned comfort cooking, health foods, coconut oil, and dating dinners - which he’s only used once, but with a one hundred percent success rate.

Needless to say, Harry’s very practiced by the time he makes it downstairs to finish cooking the turkey. He slips on his french maid apron - Gemma had bought it as a joke last Christmas and of course he loved it - and sets to work manhandling the cold turkey.

It’s not long before he hears pitter-pattering in the hallway and Louis appears, wrapped in a new blanket and a mirage of the night before. He takes a seat at the bar, sleepily watching Harry work.

"You're really good with your hands," he mumbles.

Harry glances up, frozen, from where he's kneading the dough for cinnamon bread. Louis blinks slowly before exclaiming, "Oh, no! Not like that! I didn't mean that in that way!" He scrubs his face over. "I just meant, your hands. They're really strong and you know what you're doing with them and they're just very nice."

Harry giggles as he watches Louis dig his own grave. "It's okay, Lou. I understand what you mean."

"Though," he babbles, "after last night I wouldn't be surprised if you are good with your hands at other things. Really good."

Harry stalks over to the bar, dough forgotten, and leans over the clean countertop. "Oh, really? What about last night changed your mind?" His voice is still gruff with sleep and Louis almost pops a semi right then and there. He refrains, barely, because he is not fifteen.

He leans forward instead. Last night did actually change his mind; he thinks he can trust himself more with Harry now that he knows he's not the only one who wants this. "It was probably the fact that you're a horrible kisser but with hands large enough to palm babies and strong enough to knead a thousand knots out of my back. So, after much consideration, I want to keep you around," he teases. "Also, nice apron," he adds because he’s a little shit.

Harry practically launches himself across the barrier. "Shut up." And then they're kissing. It's as slow as last night until Louis pushes up and bites his lip. Then it's slick tongue with mixed morning breath and fire exploding in Louis' solar plexus. They're so close that Louis’ eyelashes tickle Harry's cheekbones and he has to pull back, laughing, letting the counter edges still dig into his hipbones.

He's quite the sight with shining eyes, rose petal lips, and wispy hairs falling loose from his baby bun. Louis reaches out, tucking one behind his ear and whispering, "Morning, love."

Those lips stretch out in a grin as he replies with a bashful, "Morning."

They tenderly drop their points of contact. Harry rights himself, content to just stand there and appraise Louis for the rest of his life. Imagine they could have countless mornings like this when they're older and wiser. _A golden life with the Sun King._

"Good morning, Harry," Robin sees them before either of the two know he's in the room. "Louis," he nods happily, dancing to the fridge and pulling out the milk for cereal.

Harry and Louis exchange slightly panicked looks, wondering how fucked they are. Do they look guilty, or too innocent? Are Harry’s lips too puffy to go unnoticed, or is Louis’ face too flushed to look normal? Does Robin care to investigate?

“What have you two been up to?” he asks, pouring his Special K out.

“Well,” Harry breaks off, clearing his throat. He didn’t know it would sound so bedroom-y.

Louis catches on and saves him, explaining, “Harry was describing the health benefits of cinnamon bread to me.”

Robin raises his eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t know it had any.”

“Of course it does.” Harry waves his hands innocently. “It can lower the blood pressure and prevent yeast infections for those who have HIV.” Robin shoots a concerned glance towards Louis, eyes round as the moon.

“Not that either of us have HIV,” he explains quickly. “Just, as a fun fact. In case we ever need to use that information for... life, and stuff.”

“Okay, boys.” Robin holds his cereal bowl close to his heart, backing away from them and towards the living room. “I’ll be in the bedroom. Don’t have too much fun.” And then he’s gone.

“Harry,” Louis hisses, throwing an unopened letter at him. “What was that?”

“Don’t throw things at me, Louis!” he fends off. “I panicked! Sorry. Just trying not to expose myself here. Just trying to live my life in peace.” He sticks his tongue out, going back to kneading at the dough.

Louis rises, still swaddled in the blanket. “Well, I’m going to get dressed and hopefully avoid Robin for the rest of my life.”

“Are you wearing my shirt still?”

Louis glances down. “Maybe,” he admits defensively.

“It’s cute.” He smiles shyly, turning to leave before Harry calls, “Wait.”

“Yes, Harold,” he sighs.

“I am clean. Of HIV and everything in general. In case you were wondering,” he bumbles.

Louis bites back a smile, nodding slowly. “Well, congratulations. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to be an ass about it.”

“Sorry! I just, I am too. In case you were wondering,” he mimes.

Harry’s answering smile shines. “Okay.”

Geez, the things Louis wants to do with this kid. “Okay, you weirdo.” He’ll save that for another time, though. Another more appropriate time where Harry’s not starting his Thanksgiving cooking and Louis isn’t lugging around a bad case of morning breath. He sends Harry an air kiss before exiting for real.

 

<<< 

 

Shortly after two, the Horans arrive to a roasting turkey, set table, and liters of apple cider. Niall breezes in first, followed by his parents, Maura and Bobby. The families exchange hugs and kisses, Louis perched on the staircase beside Harry and Gemma.

"Gemma!" Niall greets. "You've gotten even more beautiful! Who knew it was possible?" He kisses both her cheeks, winking.

"Niall," she hugs him around the side. "Glad to see you're still a charmer."

"Who’s that?" Louis whispers as their compliments continue on.

"My friend Niall. They're always flirting, I don't know. I think I saw them making out last year but I was a bit buzzed on champagne."

"Champagne," he snorts. "Wow, Haz. Didn't take you for a lightweight."

Harry leans his head forward, ready to fight Louis. “Take that back, you pixie. I am not a lightweight. I am a heavyweight and a champ.”

His eyes crinkle up. It’s quickly becoming one of Harry’s favorite looks. “At least I can hold my liquor, you frog! At least I don’t have froggy eyes and a frogg-”

Someone clears their throat in the background, and Harry immediately leans away from Louis, praying whoever it is won’t find his actions suspicious.

The odds are in his favor; it’s only Niall.

“Niall!” he says enthusiastically. Niall grins back and meets his fistbump like the bro he is.

Louis stands, straightens his jeans, and holds out his hand. “Hey, I’m Louis.”

“Oh trust me, I’ve heard all about you. This one over here won’t stop running his mouth about your fucking hair.” And they shake.

“Niall,” Harry seethes. “Please stop.”

Louis widens his eyes in jest and pinches Harry’s side. “Awe, is little Harry embarrassed? How cute.”

Harry grins, batting away his hand and giggling. “Stop,” he drawls through laughs.

“Awe, you two are so cute,” Niall comments.

Harry’s breath hitches, worried Niall overspoke. What if Louis doesn’t want to be with him or has decided their kiss (or five kisses) was a mistake? He’s the coolest, most interesting person Harry’s ever met; why would he make time for a froggy-faced kid like himself?

But Louis just smiles bashfully. “Thanks.”

Everyone disperses throughout the living room after their ‘hellos’ while Harry bolts to the kitchen. The turkey needs to be watched and the desserts need to be guarded from the endless pit that is Niall's stomach. Louis follows behind him like he’s a playground crush in the schoolyard. Harry plops down onto a barstool, Louis opting to sit on the counter and kick his feet out to pester Harry.

"Stop kicking me, you menace," he drawls, spinning in his chair a few rounds.

"Then stop moving, you frog," he shoots back. Harry does as asked- Harry's a good citizen- and is soon rewarded with a lapful of Louis after he slides off the counter.

"You called me a frog," he complains, mouth squashed against Louis' forehead.

"That's 'cause you are one." Then he's kissing the spot below Harry's ear and Harry supposes he can accept his froggy fate if this is how Louis is going to treat him. He also prays Louis had planned ahead and shut the door behind him, lest Bobby walks in looking for the cider and is met with this sight instead.

Louis keeps going, not biting like Harry wishes he would but only scraping his teeth on the spot and sucking lightly. That paired with his thick thighs straddling Harry's lap has him practically gasping, letting out small moans. He wants to rut up against him, wants to lose his mind like a fucking high schooler, but he inhales the scent of cranberry sauce during one particularly deep gasp. It reminds him of what today is, and who exactly is in the other room.

It takes a lot of willpower, but he manages to lean away, whining out a, "Louis."

Louis sits back, taking the hint. "What, Harold. You're interrupting my artwork here." He's trying to sound annoyed, but Harry only finds it sexy as hell.

However, there's a task at hand. "Louis," he takes a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to calm. "I find you absolutely ribbiting," he deadpans.

Louis swats at his chest. "You dick! Don't turn these frog jokes around on me!"

Harry wraps his hand around Louis' wrist, opening his fingers to expose his palm with the other hand. "Listen. As _ribbiting_ as I find you, I'm going to get hard if you don't stop. So we will finish this later." He punctuates with a lingering open-mouthed kiss to the middle of Louis' palm. He's peering up at the boy still occupying his lap, and it's the most heartfelt, sensual thing anyone has ever done for him.

"Okay," he breathes.

"Okay." The turkey timer finally buzzes and Harry stands right up, hands moving under Louis' ass to support him.

He buries his head in Harry's neck. "Put me down, you giant!"

Harry glances behind him to see the door securely closed. "Not until you look at me."

He slowly drags his head up. "Yes?"

Harry darts in, kissing his cheek and squeezing his bum. Louis smells like nutmeg and apples, and his laugh hits Harry's cheek like the solar wind. It's incredible.

Reluctantly, he sets Louis back firmly on the ground. "And now it's time for the turkey."

He slips his apron back on and brings out a matching pair of oven mitts because _of course._ Minutes later he's walking the hot plate to the counter, face shining as if it's Christmas. Which it very well might be for Harry.

"You're such a dork!" Louis exclaims, hiding his face in his- well, Harry's- sweater. Apparently, Gemma had forgotten to inform him that cozy sweaters are the Styles' Thanksgiving norm, so he didn’t pack one for the occasion. So Harry, like the gentleman he is, gave into Louis' whining and lent him a baby blue one. Which Louis _knows_ is because it matches his eyes, no matter how many times Harry denies it. But it's warm and smells like Harry, giving off the feeling of a constant Harry hug, and Louis is fine with it. Louis would happily live in this sweater forever.  

Harry waves his white trim oven mittens. "Go let my mom know the dinner's ready, please?"

"Yes, sir." He bows, leaving the room.

Anne's perched on the couch next to Robin, a glass of champagne held elegantly in her hand. Louis doesn't know where the alcohol came from, but figures he shouldn't get too smashed if he's trying to impress Harry's parents (which he maybe is).

Maura's telling a story about their recent expedition to the city when Louis lays a hand on her shoulder. "Anne," he whispers. "Harry said the food's ready."

She smiles warmly. "Thanks, dear," she says before standing to follow him. "You've been helping him with the food?"

Louis blushes, thinking of all the 'helping' he's been doing, but certainly not with the food. "Um, yeah. A bit. Gemma mentioned I don't cook much, and it's true, but I'm trying to learn. Harry's great though. A natural."

"That's good to hear, love. I'm glad Harry has you." _Oh, he has me alright._ "He gets so antsy around the holidays. Gemma and Niall always run off to court each other or do God-knows-what. He doesn't mention it, but he gets bored sometimes just listening to us old people talk."

"Well, he's easy to get along with. Quite the charmer." He bites his tongue, worried he’ll take it too far, but Anne just looks at him knowingly.

“Yes, quite the charmer. From the looks of it, you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh.” Has he been caught? Is this where his life ends? Robin could stealthily jump out of the pantry with a carving knife, and that’s all it would take. His body would never be found again; he’d be just another Thanksgiving casualty, homicide brought on by too much family, stress, and inebriation at once. Louis watched a CNN investigation on it once, and it’s not uncommon. One lady even planted a bomb in the trunk of her brother’s car in order to avoid the clean-up. It was a dud, but that’s not the point.

Anne’s still scrutinizing him, and he realizes he should probably reply. “I should go check on Harry and his turkey,” is what he says rather than something intelligent. She doesn’t mind though, just keeps smiling like she’s in on the most delicious secret.

“Excellent idea. And I’ll come along, just in case the turkey’s attacked him.”

Louis nods. She’s making fun of him now, but he can handle banter much better than interrogation and he continues on. “Cooked turkeys are known to be one of the most vicious animals out there, yes. The element of surprise is on their side and they’re not shy to luring their prey in with their delicious smell.”

Anne snorts. “I can see why you’re such good friends with Gemma.”

They push through the kitchen door to find Harry wielding the carving knife, thankfully not Robin, as Louis had half expected.

“That’s a big knife for an infant to be handling,” Louis teases.

“And that’s some big talk for someone who can’t even meet the height requirements for kiddie rides,” he throws back.

“Well aren’t you boys just so witty.” Anne strolls over to the turkey. “Let me taste, H?”

He cuts her a piece which she plops in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Delicious,” she decides. “As always.” Harry receives a kiss on his forehead before Anne takes over, ordering the two of them around to set the table, set out the food, and ‘ _stop throwing crumbs at each other every time I turn my back, honestly children_.’

Niall and Gemma show up soon enough, still arguing over the last call from the football game playing in the other room. As a true soccer fan, Harry’s never understood the game, but according to Niall the instant replay video was definitely edited. He agrees only for the sake of disagreeing and bickering with Gemma.

The dinner aroma wafts through the house, eventually enticing Robin, Maura, and Bobby to join the table. The parents sit at one end, young adults at the other, just like the holidays when they were all children. Harry and Louis even manage to score a spot across from one another. It’s the perfect position to play footsies in undetected, and he’ll be damned if Louis doesn’t use that to his advantage.

Snug sweaters cover every torso in sight as food is passed around and someone is cackling while someone else is pretending to scold. Harry takes the bait and wraps his feet around Louis’ while chattering with Bobby about golf, of all things. His dimples dip in a little extra when Louis doesn’t move, and Louis believes this is the most at home he’s felt all year. Louis’ only been to his actual house a handful of times, but it doesn’t feel like his childhood anymore. His old room’s been converted into a nursery for the new twins, and his sisters are growing into young women right under his nose. It’s still his family, but it’s not his house anymore. It’s foreign. And while he wouldn’t trade those visits for anything, it’s lovely to feel at home in more places than one.

He discusses autumn and the many uses of Christmas lights with Anne and Gemma until Bobby and Harry’s knock-knock jokes grow too loud and draw in everyone’s attention. Louis’ completely enchanted, easily sucked into the toddler-era sense of humor that Harry Styles possesses. The grin doesn’t leave his face until it’s time to clean up the table, and even then it only fades into a smirk. (Harry wins the knock-knock joke competition hands down, Louis appointing himself as the only judge.)

Dessert is served on platters decorated with leaves and cartoon cornucopias while more champagne is brought out. Louis follows Harry's lead and drinks a glass with his cinnamon bread and pumpkin glazed cupcakes. He mingles with the miniscule group of family friends gathered around the kitchen before moving to the living room and snagging a seat next to Harry- in his opinion, it’s the best seat in the house.

“Don’t tell Anne, but your cinnamon bread was the best thing I’ve eaten all week.”

Harry giggles into his chest. “Hey, Louis, are you drunk?” His eyes are glazed over and his cheeks are completely ruddy. Louis knows what’s really going on here.

“No,” he states, scandalized. “But I think you are. Honestly, Hazza, after one glass of bloody champagne?”

“Gemma may have slipped me more,” he reveals. “Out of the goodness of her heart. But also- wait. Come closer.” He’s whispering now, and Louis has no choice but to lean in until his head feels pleasantly clouded by their proximity. “I think you’re really, really, really adorable and also super sexy.”

“Harry Styles, I swear, if you’re trying to seduce me while wearing that dumb Thanksgiving sweater I will blacklist you for the rest of my life.”

“But,” he pulls back, pouting. “It’s true.”

His lips are turned down, fully pouted out. It’s the kind of adorableness Louis could never grow a resistance to. “Well, I am being slowly seduced by your curls, if that makes it any better.” He brushes a hand through Harry’s hair, Harry practically melting into the move.

They’re silent, sharing the air as Louis continues to pet up and down his scalp. He thinks Harry might’ve even dozed off, but then he hears a small, “Hey, Lou?”

The families quietly buzz around them, everyone sluggishly wearing off their food coma. “Yeah?”

“What are you thankful for?”

Louis pauses, completely unprepared for the question. He meditates on it for a moment, eventually deciding on a list. “I’m thankful for a lot of things. I’m thankful for my family, and that I’ve been so lovingly accepted by yours. I’m thankful for the weather and for my schooling. I’m thankful I get to love my younger siblings and that I can set an example and try to be someone they look up to. I’m thankful for unconditional love and my entire life. Also, I’m thankful that capitalism is not a global idea.”

Harry chuckles softly, already knows it’s Louis’ habit to joke after saying something truly meaningful in order to lighten up the mood.

“What are you thankful for, Harry?” His tone is soft, quite intimate for a normal conversation.

“Well,” Harry yawns. “I’m thankful for a lot of things, too. I’m thankful for my family and that Robin’s been such a part of these last couple of years. I’m thankful for good friends and a steady job. I’m thankful for nature, thankful for clean water, and I’m very, very thankful that I know you.”

Louis thinks his world is about to crash in at those words. Thinks now would be a good time to say “Stop,” and “I’m leaving in two days,” and “What do you want from me?” but he knows the answers already. He replies to himself “Keep going,” and “We have two more days left,” and “You can have it all.” But that’s too scary to imagine, so he nuzzles his head next to Harry’s as if he’s falling asleep and kisses the top of his head where it’s out of anyone’s sight.

They do end up falling asleep, Gemma waking them forty minutes later after she’d taken the blackmail photos from five different angles. “Hey.” She jarrs Harry’s shoulder. “Hey, lovebirds. Wake up.”

Harry finally begins to stir, blinking slowly at her. Louis’ arm tightens around his shoulder and he mumbles something like, “Hazza,” into his neck. Gemma throws up a little in her mouth. There’s no way in hell her ‘big sister’ and ‘best friend’ contract bounds her to this sight. Maybe she should leave while she still can.

“What, Gemma?” Harry whispers.

It’s too late to run; she’s been spotted. Louis’ still nuzzled into his neck. “You two are too gross. I can’t take you seriously.” She turns away, huffing.

“Close your eyes, then,” he exhales. “Why’d you wake me?”

“Niall’s leaving,” she explains. “Come say good-bye.”

He considers not getting up, but he has been raised to have exceptional manners. “I’ll be right there, just let me get Louis up.”

“That’s repugnant, but whatever. We’ll be outside.” Her footsteps fade away and Louis stirs for real this time.

“I suppose no one’s informed her that repugnant is an old people word,” he yawns, finally dragging himself away from Harry’s neck.

“Hey, I love old people. Maybe she’s finally realized she’s a grandmother at heart.”

“Of course you love old people, babe. You teach them how to bend five days a week. They’re basically your livelihood.” He offers a sugary smile and stands, helping Harry up. “Let’s go say goodbye to your house guests, then.”

Out front, everyone hugs and kisses cheeks, promising ‘see you soon’ to each other and exchanging a ‘thanks for the lovely dinner’. Niall pulls Louis close when it’s his turn, promising, “If you make Harry sad, I’ll shovel out your intestines and use your blood to water my drought-ridden plants. So watch it, pal.”

Louis didn’t know they’ve been obvious - friends help each other cook and fall asleep together all the time, right? “Noted,” he whispers. “Same goes for Gemma,” he adds as an afterthought.

Niall just chuckles, pulling back. “There’s nothing going on there, mate.” He winks. “See you around.” Louis is glad there are other people in this world so protective of Harry. He should start a defense squad in his honor.

The Styles’ family settles down inside. Gemma and Robin take the cleaning shift, insisting Anne and the boys have done enough. “For once in your life,” Gemma hisses as she walks by. Louis remains unfazed, leaning steadily back against Harry’s legs from where he rests on the floor. He’s so content he wouldn’t even notice if the ozone layer finally gave out and the atmosphere was sucked into the vacuum of space. Probably.

Harry threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of Louis' neck. He starts to doze off, wondering if stars feel this warm as they slowly burn out.

"It's your last Thanksgiving at home, love," Anne starts. Louis goes to answer, thinking she's addressing him, but Harry beats him to it.

"I'll be back, just like Gemma, mum. Don't worry," his tone is gentle and Louis closes his eyes and leans further into him.

"I know, but it's just not the same. Plus you won't be here for Halloween! Who'll complain to me about how sugar ruins teeth and lives?"

He laughs. "I'll call you. I'm sure we can manage."

They pause, watching the football game still flashing on the television. It's the fourth down and three, and Anne's the only one who understands what that means.

"Are you getting nervous yet?"

"For moving?"

"Yeah."

Harry's hesitant. "Well, a little. But I’m ready. Taking a year off has helped me a lot financially, but I think I was ready to leave in August. I just...didn’t, for some reason. I talked myself out of it, I suppose. But I know I was ready then, actually, and I know I'm ready now."

Louis feels him shift in his half dream state, knows he’s hugging Anne and that one or both of them are getting emotional.

“I’m so proud of you, Harry,” she chokes.

“Mum,” he groans. “Stop crying. Thanks. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

Anne snorts. Louis would too, if he had enough energy. “As if you ever could. Now, tell me about your future. What do you want to do?” Harry must decline, because then she adds, “Unless you want to keep watching this football game.”

“Fine, fine.” Dishes clank softly in the background and running water is shut off. “I think I want to work with kids.” Louis thinks he smiles, but his head has fallen to the side and his limbs feel heavy with food and love. “Maybe kids and health or kids and nature, like a camp counselor professional or a bioregional guide. I looked up career options last week.”

Louis drifts off for real, listening to Harry talk about his future. He catches snippets like, “urban farmer gardener,” “but I loved London,” and “always wanted kids.” His last thought before comatose is _at least he’d be a cute, pretentious, urban farmer gardener._

 

<<< 

 

Harry sneaks out just after ten. Robin’s long since retired to bed while Gemma and his mum are preparing for Black Friday shopping. He couldn’t be more excited to get some new yoga gear. He needs to stock up on thicker leggings for the winter.

He stands under the blanket of stars and thinks about the universe again. There’s a technique in yoga called ‘universal breathing’. It teaches that the four stages of every breath one takes relates to the four seasons and the four stages of life and death. It communicates that the particles one inhales contains atoms that have been part of Buddah and Adolf Hitler, which connects all of us and drives us to rise above fear.

Except fearing Hitler’s atoms is a ridiculous notion in the first place. It’s ludicrous to be afraid to breathe out of fear that you could pull in Caesar, Stalin, Pol Pot, or any other tyrants to ever exist. However, these thoughts cross Harry’s mind often after he’s had too much down time, so he deals with them by vowing to rise above the crimes of humanity. When people of the future inhale his atoms, they’ll be inhaling generosity, kindness, and unadulterated love. Harry really strives to be loved.

The back door clicks shut on the porch and he twists around. It’s Louis, who is witty, dauntlessness, and intriguing. His particles will go on to places Harry’s won’t even dream of reaching alone. They’ll most likely change the world.

“Hey.” He sits down next to him on the edge of the porch, feet dangling off,the pool stretched out in front of them. It glows from the magic of the moon. “What are you doing?”

“Stargazing. Thinking about the universe. The usual,” he prattles.

Louis inhales deeply. “It’s beautiful, the moon and the stars.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “In Greek mythology, Artemis is the goddess of the moon. She’s twins with Apollo. You kind of look like him, actually,” he muses.

“Oh,” Louis coos. “How sexy. You always know the way to my heart; tell me more,” he moans.

He’s lampooning him, but Harry can’t resist. “In that case…” He scoots closer, wiggling his eyebrows. He always exploits a chance to show off his useless trivia. “The Maori people-”

“Maori?” His eyebrows are raised in surprise.

“They lived in New Zealand. Don’t interrupt,” he ribbs. “The Maori people believe a man, Rona, went to the moon to find his wife, and now they take turns eating each other. Thus, the waning and waxing of the moon.”

Louis nods, pursing his lips to hold back a smile. Harry’s spurring on. “The Ancient Chinese believed there were twelve moons in the sky, one for each month. The Aztecs believed the moon stemmed from a mother throwing her daughter’s decapitated head into the sky, and the Hindus thought the moon was an elixir storehouse for the gods. While they exhausted the supply, the moon waned. That’s my personal favorite, imagining the gods using the cosmos as their playground, setting the world on fire just to watch it burn and buying out stars for marriage rings.”

“You’re a right poet, Styles. Reminds me of a pompous english major I once had the displeasure of meeting.” He drags Harry closer with an arm around his shoulder, which is sweet, but he’s aiming for seductive. It’s time to step up his game.

“Hey, Louis.”

“Hm.”

“Are you a campfire?”

Louis’ chest grumbles as he laughs silently. Harry is honored to experience the sensation. “No, why?”

He licks his lips. “Because you’re hot and I want s’more," he turns and bats his eyelashes, hoping for the right effect.

Louis grins until his pointy teeth are prominently digging into his bottom lip. A pixie grin.  "Do you want to skinny dipping?"

_Well, shit. That worked._ He can’t believe his luck. Liam and Niall were definitely misguided on the success rate of his pick up lines. Still, though, he hesitates. Gemma and his mum could be awake, could catch them kissing or ogling each other’s butts. He’d never live it down for the rest of his microscopic, universal existence.

“They’re asleep, you know.” Louis kisses his temple softly, probably reading his mind through his lips. “They went to bed before I came out here, but I understand if you don’t want to for other reasons. We can just stare at the stars and I’ll listen to you talk about the galaxy until morning. It’s cute that you’re so into it.” He kisses again, and Harry wonders if he can feel his pulse from there.

He briefly considers the second option, but truthfully he wants everything. He wants to see Louis, wants to touch his body and think about star-crossed lovers - see if he's even allowed to do these things. So, he pushes Louis away, along with his reservations. “You’re so on, Tomlinson.”

They scramble to get undressed before the other, trying to remain silent and stealth. Louis’ back is to Harry as he shucks off the sweater and peels down his pants. He knows he’s looking, can sense his eyes all over him, but it’s a good feeling. One that sends hot shock waves through his nerves. _Stay young, stay made of lightning._

“My aura knows you’re peeking. It can sense it,” he teases, goosebumps appearing all over his skin from the air temperature, or from Harry’s gaze. He’s not sure at this point.

“Oh, uh- Sorry. I’m sorry,” he chokes over his words.

Louis smiles, exceedingly endeared, and turns around, winking. “Don’t be, babe.” But then it’s his turn to gawk, jaw falling to the porch deck. “Who knew yoga could keep someone so fucking fit,” he mentions in awe.

Harry blushes at the compliment, flushing like he's wearing _Orgasm_ by NARS. He’s incredibly lean, that much is obvious even with clothes on, but this is so much different. He's long muscles, stretchy tendons, and incredibly sharp lines. His hair flows around his face, caressing his shoulders while the moon glows behind him like a halo. He has tiny love handles fit for Louis’ hands and muscular thighs every cyclist dreams of. He's ethereal, completely angelic.            

He watches Harry’s chest move as they examine each other. Expanding and falling, inhaling and exhaling, oxygen and carbon dioxide and cellular respiration. The stars hum silently above them as the gods watch on. Louis wants to know this body, wants to know how it ebbs and flows.

Harry grins wickedly. "Race ya to the pool!" and, suddenly, he’s running away, half-heartedly cupping his flopping penis with his hand.

Louis follows, jumping in seconds after him.

“This is so fucking cold!” Harry whisper screams when they break the surface. “This is so. fucking. cold. How did I ever let you talk me into this? The dead of November, I fucking swear."

“Skinny dipping," Louis points out. They’re treading water, but he reaches out to pinch one of Harry’s nipples, grinning freely at the shiver it provokes. Or maybe that's from the water temperature. “Remember?”

Harry’s eyes grow darker, tone going down with them. “How could I forget?” And then he disappears far under the surface, barely visible in the night.

Louis hurriedly paddles toward the shallow end when he feels something close around his ankle. He yelps, quickly covering his mouth and flailing out of Harry’s clutches. Harry stays under, holding his breath like a show-off and occasionally grabbing his ankle for the hell of it, following Louis until they both can easily touch.

He bobs his head out of the water, staying low to keep his neck and torso under. Droplets are running down his face, falling from his eyebrow bone down to his cheeks. Louis stretches out and flicks one on its journey. Harry quickly bobs under again, and next thing Louis knows he’s watching a hair commercial.

“Stop, Harry,” he whines, but Harry continues shaking his head, hair fanning out, water slipping off of his locks. “You’re getting me all wet and cold, you baby Tarzan.”

"As if you're not in a pool," he scoffs. But he halts, hair strands hanging in his face as he slyly says, “I’ll warm you up.”

Louis rolls his eyes, both horrified and turned on by Harry’s version of foreplay. Yet he still replies. “Well then get over here, Styles.”

Louis remembers once hearing about a massive underground lake on Saturn’s moon Enceladus. He learned about it in a high school science class, and remembers a student shouting out about how ‘cool’ the ‘big fucking cave’ must be. He, however, thought about it visually. Thought about how Enceladus could have a glowing, blue orb for a core, and how the indigo color would echo throughout the entire lake, like colored lights in a night pool. It would bounce off the moon’s crust, creating a sheltered, mythical ambiance. Atlantis might even be there, constantly bathed in refracting colors of teal and azure.

That’s what Louis thinks about watching Harry approach him from the other side of the pool.

He slowly stalks through the water, cutting through with his body like a bloody Victoria’s Secret model, until he’s just in reach of Louis. When he looks down he can see long, lean legs stretching to the pool floor and his dick slightly disillusioned by the moonlight refractions in the pool. _A moonlit penis, bathed with elixir._ It's a beautiful sight, incredibly alluring, so naturally Louis darts away, shouting, “Catch me if you can!”

He’s small, obviously much tinier than Harry, and always one step ahead. When he moved to Long Beach, his mom would sign him up for recreational soccer teams. While it had done nothing in making him long lasting friends, it had certainly taught him how to outrun and outsmart big bad fourteen-year-olds. He’s always prided himself in his agility both on and off the field. If it also helps him get pinned to the wall by a hot, gangly eighteen-year-old male, then so be it.

Which, coincidentally, is exactly where it gets him. Trapped against the wall, chest out of the water with the pool edge digging into his back. His stance is wide but Harry’s is even wider in front of him, keeping him where he wants to be. Harry’s got his wrists fixed to the wall under the water by his own hands, and he’s close enough that Louis can feel heat weirdly radiating off his body. He’s like a personal space heater, honestly, as hot as a comet burning through the atmosphere.

Louis shifts his wrists just to see how strong the hold is on them. Harry’s grip is strong, but he knows if he asked he’d be let go. It’s just how Louis likes it. And then there’s Harry’s face, up close and personal, and he’s biting his cheek like an asshole with his eyes half-lidded.

“Stop moving, you’re such a menace,” Harry complains lowly. But he can’t stop smiling and leaning closer like a magnet attracted to a pole.

“As if it doesn’t drive you crazy,” Louis responds lower, licking his lips. Harry mirrors the action, a tiny dart of pink on his bottom lip. Louis begins to lean up, standing on his tippy toes. The night reflects off the pool and onto Harry’s right dimple. He wants to lick it, wants to taste the nectar of the gods. “Now, are you gonna kiss me or not, babe?”

He does. They meet in the middle, Louis’ hands still pinned, cold water calming around them, disturbed from Louis’ flight. But Harry is still as hot as a burning comet and it’s so wet all around. Harry kisses him roughly, like he wants to burn this memory into himself forever, so Louis kisses back with matched intensity because _me too._

He tastes like cinnamon bread and champagne, tastes like a delicacy. Louis digs deeper, wanting more, more, more.

It’s a religious experience when his legs finally wrap around Harry’s waist. Harry squeezes his wrists, indicating Louis should keep them against the wall, before running his hands up, down, all around his thighs in worship. They feel smooth and soft in the water, skin before calluses or scars. They’re still kissing and his hands are petting up and down the outside of his thighs, skimming his ass more often than not.

The water’s warm around Harry, and Louis’ dick is very interested. He’s been half-hard since he first got in here and he knows Harry’s interested too; he can feel it.

Louis wants more. He wants the tiny sighs he’s hearing to turn into moans, into shouts, into his voice sounding absolutely wrecked because of _him._ He knows he should keep his hands back, just like Harry’s asked, but he’s never been good at following directions.

One hand buries itself in Harry’s sopping curls, the other petting up and down his side teasingly. “Lou.” Harry’s reverent, pushing further back into the wall and lining their cocks up subsequently. Louis’ back burns with the pressure, but it’s a welcoming burn. “Lou, Louis.” He’s moaning and pulling back now. Louis tries to follow him with his mouth.

“Louis.” He gives in and opens his eyes. Harry’s hair is dripping around his face, rucked up where his hands have ruined the look. Louis runs his free thumb over his bottom lip, marveling at its plushness. Harry has a flush running all the way down his chest to where they’re connected at the waist, still gently petting his thighs.

“You okay?” Louis breathes.

“Yeah, I’m great. Stellar,” he laughs. “I just...is this okay?”

“Completely,” he replies. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Harry grins. “Me too.” And they lean in again.

It’s even better this time, each giving their all now that they know where it’s going. They touch more, hands sliding and gliding as they attempt to get closer and closer. The first time Louis rolls his hips, Harry drops his head and gasps against his collarbone. Louis does it again and again, eliciting the same delightful response each time.

It feels good, “So bloody good, H. You feel so bloody good,” but it’s not enough to send him over. Harry starts to bite his collarbones, holding back moans, and then Louis knows he’s almost done for.

He raises his palm, licking all over it and upsetting Harry’s hiding place. He slides it under the water, shuddering as he tries to wrap it around both dicks, but his hand is only so big and Harry is just as large as expected (very large).

Harry thinks his legs give out under him when Louis finally touches him, but it feels like he’s floating in more ways than one. Louis brushes over his head, runs his hand tightly up and down the shaft. It's so hot compared to the water temperature and he groans, throwing back his head and holding onto Louis’ thighs even tighter. There’ll be fingertip bruises there for days to come. “Lou, Lou,” he pants, voice low. He looks down to where they’re connected, can’t believe this is happening. All he can see is blue from the night, blue from the pool, blue blue blue from Louis.

"You're so hot," Louis groans, working his hand faster. "You're so strong, so perfect like this.” Harry starts to rut into his hand on the downstroke and Louis groans when they bump on the way down, dicks bobbing and floating awkwardly in the water. It would be comical if he wasn’t so hard.

Without warning, one of Harry’s hand wraps around Louis’, and he almost passes out. The other hand drapes over his ass, large enough to easily cover a whole cheek. Louis moans when his thumb catches his foreskin while he thumbs over the head. They jerk each other off desperately, as if it’s a race to see who will get off who first. It’s the perfect fantasy under the stars, surrounded by the galaxy, and Louis feels so small in Harry’s arms yet so big, like he matters.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time, both of them in complete awe of the situation and too busy gasping for breath to hold on.

Louis finishes first, shaking in Harry’s arms after the hand that isn’t jacking him off brushes his crack and all the way down to his hole. It’s his turn to bury his face in Harry’s neck, groaning out soft ‘ _Harry_ ’s all the way through.

Harry follows soon after just from the sight of Louis writhing in his arms while still jerking him off. They fall together when they’re done, gasping for breath and sharing short kisses.

It’s two minutes later when Louis laughs breathlessly, exclaiming, “Harry, look.”

Harry glances down to where Louis’ staring, laughing as well. “That’s so gross, Louis.” Their semen has floated up to the top of the water, mixing together and washing away. “Did you know that sperm can’t survive in this water temperature? If you’re trying to get pregnant, you have to do it in 98 degree water.”

Louis trails his fingers over his stomach. “I guess if you want kids we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way then, huh?”

Harry turns pink, smiling gleefully. They stare at each other happily, the chill beginning to set in when a slight breeze blows by.

But of course Harry ruins the moment, asking, “Did you really lick your palm before you jacked me off?”

“Shut up!” Louis teases, unwrapping his legs and pushing him away. “I wanted to make sure there was enough lubrication. Excuse me for caring about your penis!”

“Awe, babe. My penis cares about you, too.” He climbs out of the pool, following Louis through the dark.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, obviously, it does.”

Harry rolls his eyes, expression smug. It’s quickly wiped off when he realizes, “We don’t have towels out here, do we?”

“Harry!” Louis complains, throwing up his hands. “Are you serious?” He looks like an exasperated cartoon character, standing naked in the night, throwing his limbs all over the atmosphere.

“Lou, they’re just upstairs. Come on.” He beckons his head towards the house.

“Carry me.”

“What?”

“Carry me upstairs.” He crosses his arms to show he means business.

“Louis, I-”

“Carry me and I’ll whisper into your ear about the sun,” he counters.

Harry rolls his shoulders back, absolutely freezing. He doesn’t have time for this, but Louis getting his way is at the top of Harry’s ‘to-do’ list. “Fine, Sun King, let’s go. Hop up.”

He gathers up both their clothes, squatting to let Louis climb on. He drapes himself over Harry’s back like he’s already heavy with sleep. He probably is; Harry’s surprised he still has enough energy to carry him.

He hooks his hands under Louis’ thighs gently. “You’re so warm,” Louis murmurs into his neck. “You’re always so warm.”

“Like the Sun?” Harry teases.

“Mhm. Like the big, hot Sun.” He sounds half asleep and Harry slides the door quietly shut behind them.

“The Sun is very large, larger than Jupiter. It is also super warm all the time and always on fire,” he continues, mumbling until they’re upstairs and wrapped together under a fluffy blanket on Harry’s bed. "The Sun is a constant source of happiness, much like yourself." His voice is muffled by a pillow.

Harry just laughs, pulling him closer. They dress in boxers before climbing under the covers, and he feels the cotton rubbing against his thigh as their legs tangle. It's perfect, as true as the Earth's axis.

Louis snuggles into his chest, sighing softly. They both know they have to be up in four hours. Black Friday shopping is a competitive sport for Anne and Gemma.

They're facing each other when Harry kisses his forehead. Louis' pretending to be asleep, but he still smiles softly.

"Night, Lou," he whispers, closing his eyes.

"Night, H," he breathes into his chest. Harry imagines doing this night after night after night, from university to early adulthood to real adulthood and forever. It's scary, as commitment always is, but he knows it would fit. Knows Louis could be his constant throughout his expanding life.

Louis' quickly dreaming. Harry can feel his eyelashes fluttering on his collarbone. He thinks about Sir Edward Hilary and Mt. Everest, thinks about standing on the top of the world.

Harry drifts off soon afterwards. They fall asleep intertwined in possibilities and bathed in stardust.

 

<<< 

 

His alarm blares at a quarter to four. It shrieks and screams over the sleeping boys, demanding recognition. Louis rolls around obnoxiously in Harry’s arms, demanding the same. “Harry. Turn that bloody fucking noise off,” he groans.

There’s a thump and small crash before it goes silent. “Fucking bless,” Louis says. “Snuggle me harder. You’re the best, babe.”

He’s half delirious, but so is Harry. They curl up tighter, a chill having found its way in during the alarm scramble, and drift back to sleep.

The peace doesn’t last long.

“Harry!” Gemma’s banging on his bedroom door incessantly. “Harry Edward Styles, wake up this instant.” It’s a pounding in his head, in his whole body. Shaking the entire house as if a meteor just struck the backyard. He’d be lucky if it did. Instead he’s a witness to the wrath of a Gemma Styles late for one of her favorite days of the year.

“I’m up!” he yells from the bed. “I’m getting dressed right now.”

“Once you actually get out of your bed I’ll believe you,” she yells but she walks away nonetheless.

“No,” Louis mumbles when Harry starts to stir. “No, don’t go. Stay right here and burn in this all day.”

He grabs onto Louis as he sits up, clutching him to his chest and pushing his own back against the headboard until Louis’ fully in his lap.

“Just because you got me off does not mean you get to man handle me,” Louis grumbles, trying to seem upset but subconsciously cuddling into his chest.

“Stop acting like you don’t love feeling small, buddy, and maybe then we’d all get along.” He pecks across his forehead and all the way down Louis’ nose before reaching his lips.

Louis smiles softly as they pull away. “You’re cute when you think you know me.” Harry swiftly pinches his side, and Louis thrashes a bit out of his hold. “Stop being a menace, Harold, and let me wear your clothes.”

“Harry,” Gemma’s voices calls through the door once again.

“What?” he groans.  

“Have you seen Louis? I can’t seem to find him.” _Shit._ The boys share a panicked look, silently asking ‘does she know?’ ‘does she care?’ ‘are you gonna answer, you dork?’

He’s still sitting on his bed, a shirtless, barefooted Louis three inches away from him. “Um, I think he went night running. To, like, improve his vision and stuff. He borrowed my running jacket earlier, so, yeah, he’s probably still out there.” He stumbles through every sentence, but makes it home safe. If he discounts Louis rolling his eyes in his peripheral. The moonlight’s still falling in through the window, bathing everything in a white-blue glow.

Gemma also rolls her eyes from the other side of the door. _As if they think they’re sneaky._ She roughly bites back a smile, replying, “Okay, tell me if you see him so I can kick his ass for making us late.” She strolls away, considering the new developments in their relationship.

“Night jogging to improve my vision? Really?” he whisper yells.

“It’s a real thing! Your sense of balance changes in the dark and night running helps it adjust!” Harry defends, shrugging. “I panicked.”

“And you chose night jogging,” Louis scoffs. “Of all the people I could’ve been with…” he trails off, shaking his head fondly. Harry stands but stays by the bed, watching Louis exist, glowing as bright as the sun.

Louis fidgets under his eyes, turning to the closet and thumbing through clothes. “We don’t have all night. Dress me, Styles.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

<<< 

 

As expected, the mall is a nightmare. Children are screaming and adults are yelling as they throw product after product to the floor in search of their size. The sleepy shop associates stand barricaded behind the counters, watching with horror-struck eyes in every shop Harry and Louis pass.

"I worked Black Friday once," Louis mentions.

"Yeah?" Harry prompts, yawning and wondering why he’s ever agreed to such mornings.

“Walmart. 2011. Midnight to eight. It was the most traumatic experience of my life. You’ve seen those Youtube videos of herds of humans trampling one another to get the hundred dollar T.V.’s and the most popular dolls of the season?” Harry nods as a teenage boy sprints past them. “It was that complete disaster come to life. I honestly thought I was going to die.”

Something sharp buzzes inside of Harry, which is ridiculous. Louis didn’t die; he’s right here. Harry grabs his elbow as a reminder. “Aren’t we glad we avoided that catastrophe?”

Louis chuckles. “Quite the charmer, as usual.”

They’re roaming the mall alone together. Anne and Gemma left them as soon as they arrived. They rushed off to Victoria’s Secret, saying something along the lines of “See you soon, have fun boys.” _(_ But not too much fun, Gemma had noted seriously). She’d nodded sharply before leaving, letting them both know she meant business, and Harry’s been rethinking his rude awakening this morning ever since. Wondering how much she knew, if he and Louis were being obvious or not and if she even cared. He’s never been one for subtlety, and Louis is most likely a much better liar than him. Not that he’s been lying to Harry. Probably. _Not that I would know anyways, but._

“Come on, Haz. Let’s go in here.” His thoughts are interrupted by Louis intertwining their fingers and tugging on his hand. He feels tingly. This is proper ‘together’ behavior. _What would he lie about anyways?_

Louis fearlessly leads him into a packed Zumiez. It’s one of the most alternative stores in the mall, which undeniably says something about the type of area Harry lives in. Piercings and Vans fill the nooks and crannies, with skateboards and TOMS scattered across the floor like a skater genre horror movie.

“I used to skate when I was younger,” Louis comments offhandedly, leading Harry around the store.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to skate. If only I’d been a cool kid.” Harry muses. He stops their stroll, thumbing through a sale rack and holding up a shirt that reads _It is what it is_ to Louis’ torso, tracing over his real tattoo.

Louis snorts. “You? Skating? You can barely stand upright on a good day, H.” He absentmindedly thumbs the fabric of the skater tank.

“I seem to remember that I had no problem standing upright last night. You were the one with weak legs, Tomlinson,” he gloats smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he blows off. “You’re good with your hands, rub it in.”

He grins again. “Thank you for your heartfelt compliment. Now, how do you feel about this shirt?”

He tilts his head, examining the shirt, still holding Harry’s hand. “My tattoo!” he grins. “Well it’s very passive, very ironic, and extremely soft,” he reviews. “I like it.”

Harry smiles like he’s just discovered a sister planet. “You should get it.”

Louis waves his free hand. “No, it’ll look better on you anyways.”

Harry sighs, sliding it back in its rightful spot, reminding himself to buy it before Christmas.

They continue cruising around the hectic store, dodging frantic shoppers who look too indifferent to be so distressed. They stop one another every so often to sneak a beanie on the other’s head, or to point out a particularly graphic shirt aimed at the average sexist population.

It’s a beautiful time with a beautiful boy. Louis’ eyes crinkle more often than not, his smile extremely sharp and face completely open. His hand is warm, with the sleeves of Harry’s borrowed sweater falling halfway down his palm. Louis’ been borrowing his clothes the whole week, actually.

Louis can’t help wonder if they look like a couple to any of the passersby. Maybe a long-term couple who’s been together since high school, returning to their hometown for the holidays to spend time with their families. Or maybe a five month one, over the honeymoon phase but still pleasantly up each other’s asses 24/7. Maybe they look in love, or maybe they look in lust, but it doesn’t matter. He only hopes they look _together._

Eventually they wander out of the store and into another one, hours passing by with slow footsteps and faint, ghostly yelling echoing through the domed shopping center. Their hands stay clasped, even when Louis' starts to sweat. Harry just pinches his side and offers to buy them breakfast, which Louis easily agrees to. He’s always a slut for free food and cute boys.

Compared to the rest of the center, the food court is a literal morgue. Sleep-deprived consumers (and those who were unwillingly dragged along) droop over the tables while others drudge along with coffee as black as the night sky clutched in their hands. Spills and shopping receipts lay scattered across the floor. It’s a scene from a zombie movie, minus the brains and the blood.

“Tea or coffee?” Louis asks sleepily. He’s more tired than he thought.

“Hmmm. Tea and a breakfast sandwich. You?”

Louis observes him as he barely stifles a yawn. _At least Harry seems just as tired._ “Same, babe,” he agrees, just for the response. He’ll never get over Harry’s pee-wee blush every time he uses that endearment.

Harry leads them to a local bakery kiosk and stands in line behind countless grandparents and mall walkers that braving the crowds. It goes slow, the elderly lady working the stand asking about everyone’s grandbabies and dogs like she honestly cares. Louis could see Harry doing this in fifty years; hell, Louis could see Harry doing this now. _He did say he used to work in a bakery…_ Images of a sixteen-year-old cherubic Harry flood his mind. Baby Harry in a baker’s hat. Baby Harry pulling bread and cookies out of the oven. Baby Harry handing out free scones to toddlers and grandbabies. It’s all a bit overwhelming to imagine.

When it’s their turn to order, Harry begins with a sincere, “Barbara! It’s nice to see you. How are the grandkids?”

She smiles warmly. “They’re doing great, Harry. You, on the other hand, never come to see me anymore.” He shrugs, apparently caught. She turns her head towards Louis. “And who’s this strapping young man?”

Louis makes to extract his hand, not sure if this is alright or not, but Harry squeezes around it. “This is Louis, Gemma’s roommate.”

She makes a show of peering at where they’re clasped together, eyebrows shooting up to her graying hairline partially covered by a small baker’s cap. “Gemma’s roommate, eh?”

“Eh? Someone’s gotten quite sassy while I’ve been away," he deflects and Louis finds himself relaxing a bit. Not that he doesn't want to be with Harry properly, because he does, but it's just so early. Plus, what would Anne and Robin think of this when they let him into their home? Isn't this breaking some kind of polite houseguest rule?

"Shut it, Styles. I'm still your elder." She rolls her chestnut brown eyes and tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Now what can I get you boys?"

Harry leans forward, bouncing on his toes as he orders. "Two teas and bacon croissants please," He lets go of Louis to pull out his wallet. "Is that good for you?" he asks softly.

"Perfect. I'll take my tea plain, please."

They smile, Harry calling out, "No cream or sugar in one, please. He's sweet enough."

Styrofoam cups are slammed down on the makeshift counter seconds later. "You two are disgusting," Barbara huffs, still smiling.

Harry slips her a ten and drops a couple of dollars into the tip jar, fluttering down like falling stars.

She hands over the croissants and a, “Now get out of here, but come visit me more, Harry. I know you’re off to college soon.”

His stomach tightens at the mention of college, but he coughs out a, "Will do. Thank you, Barbara.” Louis grabs the teas, Harry the croissants, and they scout out a table.

“Thank you,” Louis cooes as they slide in a booth, one after the other. Dating in university is weird; no one ever buys him breakfast, they just leave or he kicks them out without time for a single good morning kiss. So he leans over and kisses Harry’s cheek to show that he means it, which is a ridiculous thing in itself; the last time he kissed someone’s cheek was his mum’s on Mother’s Day. But today it's worth it to see joy splashed on Harry's face, and Louis _has_ been attempting to expand his horizons, so.

"You two were very friendly." He nods towards the cart where Barbara is now handing out pastries to a middle-aged couple.

"What, are you jealous?" Harry jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No! I am not jealous, take that back." It's not like Louis wants to see Harry all the time, or wishes that he’d known him throughout every stage of his life. Or imagined once that they grew up next to each other before becoming high school sweethearts and marrying forever. Louis Tomlinson does not get jealous.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he mutters, sipping his tea.

They eat in a comfortable silence often interrupted by a grunt or a giggle from a particularly animated shopper. They're lined up from shoulder to hip to ankles, linked together like two peas in a pod, like two bodies as one.

Harry's certainly yawning enough for two bodies by the time they finish their food.

"Tired?" Louis asks softly.

He nods sleepily, eyes sparkling. "I guess last night really took a lot out of me."

Louis laughs, agreeing. "Damn straight it did."

Harry unsuccessfully bites back a yawn again, and it's so precious Louis can't stand it.

"Close your eyes, love,” he instructs.

“Why? What are you gonna do? Strip again? Because been there, done that,” he teases, lazily waving his limp wrist, but he shuts his eyes anyways.

“No. Now shhh.” Louis ghosts his hands over Harry’s cheekbones, treating him as delicately as he should be, just like porcelain. He gently runs his fingers over Harry’s eyelids and softly strokes the sides of his face.

Harry’s full-out grinning at all this attention, must love the way it feels. Louis lets his hands trace patterns in his skin while he kisses once at his nose, and twice on each eyelid, just like an angel’s kiss.

Harry’s eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as Louis pulls back, amazed at how intimate that was for _himself_. He can't believe he felt Harry’s tiny eyelashes on his lips. What a religious experience. He should call the Pope.

“Open your eyes,” he finally whispers.

“You’re such a sap, oh my god,” Harry whispers back, face flushed with pleasure. “Who let you out of the house?” He’s glowing, can feel his soul expanding and encompassing Louis in all its might.

“It was you, if I remember correctly.” Louis’ is expanding, too, feels as if all his emotions are rushing to his face. They sit still in the booth, chests and souls opening to get what they need and reaching out for one another like _The Creation of Adam_. Their smiles are permanently fixed to their faces, and nothing could be more painful than the thought of looking away and breaking the spell. Cupid’s shot his arrow, and it’s obvious to anyone within a five mile distance that they’re not to be disturbed.

Well, almost everyone. “Harry?” a rough voice asks to their left.

Harry grudgingly blinks, looking away. “Liam!” he exclaims in recognition as his slight pang of anger at being interrupted fades. “What are you doing here?”

Louis takes ‘Liam’ in. He’s... huge, frankly. Looks like he could beat him up while carrying buckets of water on his broad shoulders. He's probably around Harry’s age or younger, face not completely chiseled in yet. _Not like my bone structure of marble,_ he tells himself. He tries not to automatically hate Liam for interrupting their moment and being utterly attractive, but it's hard to deter those feelings when his soul was just expanding five seconds ago.

"Niall and I decided to brave the masses for some new sweatshirts. He's around here somewhere, probably the donut shack.” Liam gestures his hand indifferently behind him. “Is this Louis?" he asks as if he's genuinely interested.

_Polite and attractive?_ Louis barely refrains from side-eyeing him. "I am." He stands and holds out his hand to shake, because he’s even more polite and even more attractive than Liam, surely. "Do all your friends know my name, Harold?"

"Oh," Liam interjects. "He couldn't stop talking about you. Seems he's got a proper kindergarten crush."

"Liam," Harry sibilates, shrinking into his sweater. "Stop that."

Liam ruffles his hair and Louis can feel himself growing unnaturally possessive. It's Harry's friend, after all, but he still lays a hand on Harry's thigh as a warning to other males to stay away. Maybe he should tattoo his name on Harry’s collarbone for everyone to see. That would be the best, most effective idea.

"It's good to meet you," Louis assures, _because I’m the politest of them all_.

"You too, man." Liam resembles a puppy dog when he smiles. Louis can't say it's not at least a bit endearing. "You're living down South with Gemma, yeah?"

"Yeah. She's a terror but someone's got to keep her under control I suppose," he gesticulates vaguely, never one to accomplish small talk.

Harry obviously shifts his leg under Louis’ hold. "More like she keeps _you_ under control, buddy."

"Blasphemy, _buddy_." He emphasizes the word by running his pinky down the inseam of Harry's joggers.

Liam clears his throat. "Harry's moving South next year. You guys will be close," he winks, trying to waggle his eyebrows at the same time. He’s completely David Beckham meets large, friendly dog.

Harry make a noise of protest ( _or is it agreement?_ ) and looks ready to comment, but Liam's phone goes off.

He swipes through it, sighing. "Niall's short a couple of dollars... Needs me to spot him donut money..."

A shout of “Liam, please!” comes from the other side of the food court. He slightly rolls his eyes while pocketing his phone.

“It was really good to meet you, Louis. I’ll see you guys around.” Liam exits with a head nod and courteous direct eye contact, already fishing his wallet out of his pants.

“He seems nice,” Louis comments when he’s out of earshot.

“Mhm?” Harry asks. “Not jealous or anything?” He shifts his leg under Louis’ hand again, intertwining their fingers over his thigh.

“I don’t get jealous of friendly friends,” he grumbles. Harry levels him, raising his eyebrows. “Fine. Maybe a bit.”

He leans over to peck Louis on the lips, pulling back quickly as if he wasn’t allowed to do that. Which, it’s silly for a boy who hung the stars to think Louis doesn’t want to kiss him, so Louis leans over abruptly and kisses him back.

They get up to toss their trash together, smiling in understandment. “Please, let’s go find Mum and Gemma so they’ll take us home and we can go to bed.”

“Trying to get me back in bed now? I see how it is. Only want me for my body,” Louis grunts, crossing his hands over his chest.

“You say that as if your mind isn’t beautiful,” Harry fusses. “Though, your body is a plus.”

“Haha, Harry,” he punctuates. “L-O-L.” Their arms link together and Harry leads the way back into the masses.

 

<<< 

 

Robin's awake when they arrive home with shopping bags on shopping bags clutched in their hands. He says quick hello’s before hunching over the stove and making Christmas tree waffles with red and green M&M's. ("Never let it be said Harry's the only one skilled in this kitchen," he laughs as they scarf their second breakfasts down.)

Louis and Harry escape up to his room afterwards for a nap, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Robin and Anne. They fall asleep sharing kisses attached at the hip and wake up hours later tangled in each other, affectionately hard.

Harry locks his door at Louis' insistence, lying back down as Louis crawls over him. He sucks Harry off with a couple, "Shh. Keep quiet love," and many, "You're doing so good. You're so pretty like this, like a thousand galaxies all in one body."

Harry cums down Louis' throat after three minutes, hips bucking and mind complete oblivion.

Louis does the same not even a minute later, hands buried in Harry's hair and praise still running off his lips. They cuddle afterwards, Harry drifting off and whispering, “Baby, I’ll never leave if you keep holding me this way.”

They never get their chance for the post-coital nap, though. Anne knocks on the door to wake them, and it's a miracle they even have time to clean and dress before anyone grows suspicious. They race down the stairs to help tidy up, joking around and pushing one another into furniture. And if their lingering flushes are obvious, hair completely sex-mused, or secretive smiles not-so-secret, well, no one mentions it.

Except for Anne while Harry’s helping her clear dinner. They’d had turkey leftovers, the usual Black Friday special, and the smell still wafts through the entire house long after it’s been cooked. Gemma had run up for a shower while Louis and Robin watch _The Polar Express_ on television. After the day’s been spent switching out Thanksgiving for Christmas decorations and throwing old tissue paper at anyone in the room, it’s a perfect way to unwind.

Or so Harry thought.

He’s putting away dried plates when it starts. Anne clears her throat harshly across the room- something she only does when she’s sick or wants full attention.

“Were you and Louis napping together earlier, dear?” Her tone is light but strained. Harry doesn’t know how to approach this, but decides honesty is always best.

“Yeah, we were.” _And the last night, and we’ve had intimate relations._ “Er, his bed wasn’t made and it was just easier.” He avoids her eyes.

“Do you- do you really think that’s best?” She’s hard to read, one of Harry’s least favorite moods.

“What do you mean?” he answers slowly, delaying the inevitable _‘It’s a one-sided thing, Harry. Mother’s intuition.’_ Because it’s not one-sided. Louis has feelings for him, too. He’s got to. He’s told Harry he’s like a thousand galaxies in one body, and if that’s not on wedding vow level, Harry doesn’t know what is. Then again, this could all be a joke for him, just a holiday pastime.

She sighs, setting her dish towel down carefully. “Harry Edward Styles.”

They level one another. “Mum, mother, mommy.”

“That boy has a crush on you, Harry. He looks at you like you’re the world and it’s really not fair of you to be leading him on li-”

“Mum,” he interrupts, giggling with his heart pounding. _She can’t be serious._ “I know. I know he does. But it’s mutual, it’s same. Ditto. I do, too, obviously.”

“Oh thank God,” she exclaims. “I’m so glad you told me. I thought I was going to have to go on and on about Louis for hours before you would even look at me.”

Harry doesn’t understand. “Wait. You knew I liked him? Then why the theatrics?”

“Well, love, I’d much rather hear things from you than practically accuse you of something that’s not your fault. He’s a very good-looking boy. Such a handsome and polite young man. I can see how this happened.” She winks going back to cleaning.

“You’re not mad?” he approaches, grabbing a new handful of plates. “That he’s a houseguest?”

“No, I’m not mad. I’m not even surprised. There comes a time where parents have to trust their children and the values they’ve raised them with. You’re eighteen, H, and we’ve reached that time. You’re old enough to make your own decisions, and you have been for a long time. I trust you.”

Harry sighs in relief, can’t wait to tell Louis. If- if he even wants to continue this after the break. Harry can’t see how they could just _not_ stay… together? Stay benefriends? Stay ‘lads with massive crushes on each other?’ He’ll have to ask and find out what this is. Communication is key with the universe and relationships, after all.

“Even if I didn’t trust you, I’d have to learn to. My baby is going to college.” She finishes wiping down the counter and switches to wiping her eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

Harry chokes out a chuckle. “You didn’t do this to Gemma when she left, mum. Are you trying to tell me you thought she’d never make it?” His tone is light, but Harry’s still serious, still nervous, and she knows.

“Don’t be silly,” she laughs. “Of course I did this with Gemma. You just never saw it because she’d have your head.”

“This is true,” he admits, twisting to put the final stack of plates away and catching a glimpse of Louis in the doorway. _Oh._ “Lou,” he grins, taken aback.

“Hey, Harry. Anne,” he nods, wrapped in one of Harry’s old jumpers. It’s as if he didn’t even pack his own clothes with how often he’s wearing Harry’s. “Do you need any help cleaning? I know you sent me away earlier, but Robin fell asleep and started snoring too loud to hear the movie.” He rubs the back of his neck slowly, eyes constantly flitting to meet Harry’s.

“No, love, but thank you.” She jaunts over and hugs him tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She twists and turns her torso, keeping him in her embrace.

Louis’ baffled, but wraps his arms gently around her. “You’re welcome, of course?” he queries. It’s a strange situation, but she hugs like his mum, and he misses his girls.

Anne steps back, releasing him, and waves her arms. “You two run along now. Be good."

"Mum," Harry groans. The last thing he wants to think about is if his mum knows what he and Louis actually do in their free time besides discuss their mutual feelings for each other.

"Be good," she emphasizes and kisses his forehead before leaving. Harry leans back against the counter, smiling like mad with his cheeks still flushed. _Did I just get her blessing? Is that what that is? Or is this the feeling you get when you know you’re accepted?_

“Hm,” Louis clears his throat, still tiny and standing on the tile. Harry really needs to get a 5’ by 7’ photo of that. He also needs to talk to Louis before he combusts from all the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Louis whispers back. “What’s got you so excited, little frog?”

“I’m your little frog.” Louis rolls his eyes at the comment, muttering something about how much he bloody hates frogs. Harry ignores him, continuing. “She thinks you have a crush on me.”

Alarm washes over Louis’ face, turning pale and frozen like he’s just taken his helmet off on the moon. But then Harry’s his oxygen. Harry's grinning, sparkling, acting like his life source, and Louis thinks this may not be the end of the world.

“What’d she say about that?” he asks nonchalantly, picking at a scratch on the counter. He can totally do nonchalant.

"Nothing, really. I just told her it's mutual." He clears his throat, suddenly shy.

Louis shoots up, face shining like a thousand tiny jewels washed in the Sun. Harry's heart skips some beats, pulse turning irregular, and he feels his heart growing. _What a pleasure it is to know you._

"Do you have work in the morning?" Louis inquires, playing with the strings on Harry's sweatshirt.

"No," he returns giddily. "Not until Sunday."

Louis smiles and blinks slowly. "Want to watch a movie before bed? I doubt it'll wake Robin up if we change the channel. He seems pretty out of it."

"Yes," he replies, nodding hastily. "I'd love to."

"Then it's a date," Louis confirms, a light laugh bouncing off the kitchen walls.

Harry's infatuated with the sound. He wants to write an album and use it as the background for every track. "A date on my living room couch it is. I'll make the popcorn."

They meet at the couch five minutes later, a bucket of popcorn in Harry's hands, Louis spreading out movie options on the living room table, a clear room all to themselves.

"My mum must've woken him up," Harry notes, fiddling with the channels.

"I'm glad she did." Louis' tongue darts out to lick his nose as Harry shrieks.

They settle on _A Christmas Story_ and curl up to the opening credits. Harry's arms are spread out along the back of the couch, one thrown over Louis and snuggling him in. He brings his knees up to Harry's lap, leaning sideways and resting in the curve of his neck. The popcorn's set to the side, both of them munching mindlessly and occasionally feeding each other.

Louis' feet slowly turn to popsicles, so the boys cocoon themselves in a blanket halfway through the movie. Harry bundles Louis’ feet up carefully until they're completely snug, and barely holds himself back from kissing the blanketed toes. They just look so cute wiggling under the blue fleece, like tiny pigs in a blanket. He does, however, gently rub at his ankles to get the blood running through again. Louis giggles, but lets him keep going. It's as domestic as he's ever felt.

They hunker into the couch long after Gemma's shower finishes and long after the closing credits roll. They trade childhood stories and grown-up secrets while tracing patterns into one another's skin, burning them there like fairy runes. It’s unnatural how they've carved out a safe place of their own so quickly, yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world, to be holed up in their own bubble encompassing the house and the entire week.

It's protected and it’s here that Harry finally feels safe enough to blurt out one confession.

"I'm scared of college, Louis. I'm scared of failing and of not being good enough and of being alone.” He’s surprised words just keep coming out, but he doesn’t stop them. “I haven't told anyone ever, but I am."

Louis starts massaging Harry's hand where it's held in his, letting him continue.

"I'm scared I won't make friends, I’m scared it’ll be too hard and I won’t make it on my own. I’m scared I won’t have time for myself and I’ll become a stress-ridden monster of a boy. I could choose a major I hate, or choose one with no job security or future. Then, no one will love me and I’ll be alone forever. I’m scared I’ll end up as a DVD yoga instructor with only moderate sales for the rest of my life, scared of being too small. But, most of all, I’m scared of not making a difference." He exhales shakily, heart and soul laid out for Louis to see.

Louis takes it all in. He twists his body around, cold feet be damned, to straddle Harry’s lap and face him head on. He leans back on his heels and slides his hands down the sides of Harry’s face. This is a very serious conversation. “Baby, when was the last time you failed?”

Harry considers the question, eyebrows furrowing. “Probably during the movie when I kept making kissy faces, but you were too engrossed with the plotline to notice I wanted your face on mine.”

Louis leans forward, nuzzling his cheek down the middle of Harry’s face. “Is this close enough for you? Or how about this?” He kisses around the sides of his face, up, down, and all around, leaving little pecks as he goes along. “Not such a failure now, are ya?” he asks between kisses.

“Louis,” Harry howls, laughing with affection. “Okay, okay. I’m not a failure. I get it. Please let me go. Please.”

“See?” Louis pulls back, boring his eyes into Harry’s. “Not a failure. You’re not going to fail. You’re going to be absolutely brilliant and succeed enormously at whatever you do. You impact the world just by being yourself, and I think that’s beautiful.”

“Someone  must’ve swallowed a mid-century poetry book,” Harry mutters.

“Shhh,” Louis places his fingers over Harry’s lips. “Don’t sass me. Also, you won’t be alone. For one, Gemma literally lives in LA. She’d do anything for you. For two, I, her roommate, also live in LA and also would be honored to go to the ends of the Earth with you,” Louis places quick kisses over his brow bone, and Harry feels wanted. “You are a very special boy.” He says it as a promise.

Harry hugs him close. _Now. You should ask him now._ But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Louis has scooted closer, keeping most of his weight to himself, but allowing his head to lull on Harry’s shoulder. Louis keeps mouthing at Harry’s neck, blowing raspberries and biting every so often, but nothing that will get either of them worked up. It’s perfect, exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Not with Louis taking care of him like this.

“You’re like a tasty little gummy frog. Such a delight,” he mutters against his skin, still blowing raspberries. “My lanky human.”

Harry giggles, suddenly aware of how much his skin tickles. “You’re a tiny pastry. A perfect, little cinnamon roll,” he whispers into his hair.

“Hm. At least I’m the yummiest pastry,” Louis regards.

“The absolute yummiest.” Harry winks over-exaggeratedly, still shaking his nerves off.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Harry nods solemnly. “I guess I’ll just have to accept my fate, then. But, regardless, you’re the most dazzling boy to ever exist, and I promise you’re going to do very, very well in life.”

Harry’s eyes search Louis’ face in the dark. They always find themselves here, in the dim living room with the glow of the television as their only torch, and Harry’s amazed every time by how intimate it is. He could be in a thousand dingy living rooms with a thousand different television shows and never lose his fascination. “How do you know, though?” he whispers.

Louis searches his face right back. “I just do. You know auras and I know people and I just _know_ you’re exceptional.”

Harry exhales heavily. He feels like a black hole at his worst, a life with no direction and nothing incredible to contribute to the human race. But looking at Louis right now, he feels his best.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” Louis climbs off him and stands up, grabbing Harry’s hands to help lift him.

They stand toe to toe, chests bumping giddly until Harry, still cocooned in their blanket, blurts out, “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Louis’ peering up, gaze cutting through the darkness. “I know,” he admits. “Let’s go to bed.” He kisses Harry lightly before pulling them up the stairs and into the comfort of the bed. They kiss again and again and again, Louis breathing stardust and hope into Harry’s veins until he’s positive Harry will feel his best for the rest of forever.

 

<<< 

 

Louis is still awake at 4 am. He’s spooning Harry, arm draped over his side and pulling him close until they’re molded into one. He’s been breathing in the scent at the back of his neck for over two hours, ever since they passed out after slow blowjobs and careful, wandering hands. Or, ever since Louis expected to pass out. While he’s always been a cuddler, he’s never been one to stay up after, wondering what that orgasm meant to the other person.

He almost considers what it means that he’s wondering about Harry’s thoughts, but that might be a bit too deep for him to delve into on such little sleep.

It's just, he's had a great time this past week, and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where he and Harry stand. When Gemma invited him home for their week break, Harry was the last thing he expected. He was expecting 'a week of rest' more than 'a week with a hot, hippie younger brother.' Not that he's complaining- Harry is the kindest person he's ever met. He's just noting.

_Mhm, like the way you_ noted _your feelings for him before acting on them. Or the way you_ noted _how loving he is with his family or how domestic he can be. Or the way you_ noted _how polite and perfect all his mannerisms are and how much you want him all the time. You’re probably the best noter I know._

Harry stirs Louis out of his inner monologue, rousing and sleepily lacing their fingers together where his hand lays on Harry’s stomach. They fit perfectly, tied up like two ships, and Louis smiles into Harry’s back.

“Lou,” he mumbles, half asleep. “Are you still awake?” Louis doesn’t answer, holding his breath and hoping Harry will just go back to sleep, but there’s no such luck.

“I know you’re awake,” Harry admits, clunkily turning over in his arms to face Louis in the hazy room.

“How’d you know?”

“Your heartbeat is irregular.” He lays a hand over Louis’ heart. “I can feel it through my back.”

“What an investigative scientist you are,” Louis whispers, secretly pleased by how well Harry knows his body. Like he could map it all free-handed, even the bruises on his thigh from where Harry held on too tight in the pool, just from his memory.

“What’s up, Lou? What are you thinking?” Harry’s eyes turn a darker shade of green at night, an evergreen or a jade as the shadows fall over them. They’re peering in Louis’ own, noses inches apart and asking all the right questions. Louis wants to be absorbed into his irises. He’d live in pine forest with Harry, turn into a lumberjack and pull a ‘Little House on the Prairie’ as he cuts down trees to build a cabin they could live in for their forever.

“Just the mysteries of the universe,” Louis whispers lightly, kissing Harry’s nose. It’s the most perfect nose in the world, fits right into Louis’ lips. “Go to bed, love.”

He roughly shakes his head, curls tangling on the pillowcase. “You have a long drive tomorrow. Get some rest. Sleep with me, babe.”

Louis’ so endeared by this sleepy boy wrapped up in his arms, the one who likes to be the little spoon at night, but manhandles Louis by the day. “Well since you asked so nicely...” he relents, though he has no faith he’ll ever find sleep in his condition.

“Good,” Harry smiles. He tilts his head back to try and kiss Louis’ eyelids, just like Louis had done in the food court that very morning, but misses and mostly catches the browbone instead. It’s completely adorable. “Go to sleep with me, Louis.”

Louis settles in, both the boys slotting their legs and snuggling together. He’s done comprehending what his orgasm meant to Harry, doesn’t even try to, and he’s out cold within three minutes.

 

<<< 

 

Ten a.m. is a cruel, disgusting blur of emotion and kissing, so much kissing.

Harry and Louis wake up to sunshine filtering through the blinds, bathing their skin in window shade patterns as they kiss each other to the hum of the heater and the songs of the birds. They bite lips and slide tongues, attempting to consume each other before they’re pulled away by six hundred miles.

Louis finally makes it out of bed, beginning to pack as Harry watches from the comfort of his sheets in only his boxers. He watches Louis store his things away. His duffle bag slowly migrated into Harry’s far corner over the week, a fact which immensely pleased Harry, and Louis’ bare body moves smoothly as shirt after pants after joggers get stored away.

Louis dresses afterwards, much to Harry’s disappointment. He shucks on stretchy pants, probably jeggings, before pulling Harry’s Ramones shirt he borrowed all those nights ago over his head. He grabs a light jacket from the floor, his own blue and red Adidas one, to slip on as well.

“It’ll be our secret,” Louis teases, kissing Harry again. “It’s too nice to let go.” He could be talking about the shirt, or the memories it started, but Harry likes to believe Louis’ talking about himself, too. Confessing that he, Harry, is too nice to let go. That he’s precious.

They brush their teeth together as Harry attempts to debate Crest vs. Colgate. His words are muffled and the nameless brand of toothpaste foams from his mouth, but he’s soon got Louis smiling all the way down to his toes.

All in all, Louis’ finished his morning routine with fifteen minutes to spare, pleading Harry to “please put some clothes on so we can make out against your door.”

“What?” Harry squeaks. “You can’t make out with me when I’m half dressed? Weak, Tomlinson, how weak.” He shakes his head, but dresses in a red long sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

“Hormones,” Louis shrugs, unpulsed, leaning against the door and spreading his legs wider as an invitation.

“I didn’t know old men could use that excuse,” Harry confesses, cracking his back.

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, challenging. “Oh, well, since you don’t like to kiss old men, I’m just going to go downstairs and drink some tea while talking about the weather and my late wife.” He pushes off the door and makes to grab his bags, but Harry catches his wrist.

“Did you know old men have large ears because bones stop growing but cartlidge never does?” he discloses, backing Louis against the door with hands settled on his waist.

“Really?” Louis exclaims. “I had no idea old people got you so heated.” His arms wrap around Harry’s neck, tangling in the baby hairs at his nape.

“Completely,” he deadpans, letting himself be pulled closer by Louis. “After all, I don’t just teach yoga for the paycheck,” he winks.

“You do talk some shit,” Louis mutters into his mouth, smiling as their teeth clank and collide.

“Oh, oh, that’s right. Clash our teeth harder, grandpa. You always know how I like it,” Harry fake moans, pulling back and giggling.

“Harry,” Louis scolds. “I’m begging you to stop. All I want is a nice long kiss and to-”

He’s interrupted by Harry’s lips, of course, because Harry is an actual child. His lips move steadily, persistently against Louis’, a bit sweet with little nips and flashes of tongue. Louis matches his pace and kisses back the same way. He lets Harry press his limbs into the door and keep him there, making him feel small and overwhelmed in the best way. Louis can’t believe he’s found someone who knows exactly what he wants without even being told. Not that he’s shy about telling people what he likes, but this has to say something about their compatibility, about their magnetism.

All he can smell is Harry, all he can taste is Harry, and all he can think is _Harry Harry Harry._ He lets himself get lost in the bittersweetness of the kiss, in the fruity, vanilla, distinctly Harry scent, in the end of their week of _HarryandLouis_.

That’s how they finish their time together, with sucking and biting and soft teasing. Their hands caress and ghost, freely running through hair and up and down sides. It’s divine the way Harry treats him. It makes him feel angelic, otherworldly. He could get lost in it forever.

Unfortunately, Harry slowly pulls back when they hear footsteps on the stairs. If Louis wasn’t gasping for breath already he would be now. Harry’s gorgeous, mouth framed by cherry-red lips and a flush creeping all the way down his neck as stars fill his eyes. “I’ll miss you.” His voice is deep as he murmurs it, as deep as the Pacific Ocean.

“I’ll miss you, too, H.” Louis’ tone is higher, reaching the tips of the exosphere before his words float away. He wants to tuck away secret moments like this for the two of them. He wishes they could have more time to do just that.

“I think I’m going to try and visit you during New Year’s,” Harry confesses, rubbing the back of his neck while keeping his other hand wrapped around Louis’ waist.

“Yeah?” Louis encourages. That’s just a month and a half away, and it would help if he knew exactly what they are to each other, but it’s a start.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Yeah, I’ll visit for sure.”

“Good.” Louis darts in for a solo kiss, just one last peck that Harry returns gleefully.

Gemma’s voice finally appears outside the door. “Louis, we really need to leave if we want to get home by eleven.” She sounds reluctant, like she knows what she’s interrupting on the other side, but she stands strong and raps the door a couple times to make sure he’s heard her.

Louis feels her taps vibrate through his body and it reminds him of a space shuttle blasting off into the unknown, always expanding its horizons.

He opens his mouth, about to blurt out “I want to stay,” or “I’ll think about you whenever I see the stars,” or “I really like you,” but Harry beats him to it.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Let’s get you home.”

 

<<< 

 

Outside the air is fresh and metallic smelling. It’s the perfect air for a morning run, which is what Harry would be doing right now if it wasn’t for the boy who sucked a love bite into his collarbone this morning as he pinned Harry down to the bed.

Even now Louis squeezes his shoulder, grinning dirtily as fingers reach around to press into that very spot in front of his family. Harry flushes, a mixture of arousal and affection running through his veins. The effect Louis has on him blows his mind. (He blames it on teenage hormones, but even he’s getting too old for those.)

They’re swiftly interrupted by Harry’s family, pulling towards Louis like they can’t be stopped. Anne’s up first, exclaiming, “Louis,” and approaching with open sweater-covered arms, already going in for the hug.

“Anne,” he laughs, hugging back. “Thank you for letting me stay here. Your house is absolutely wonderful.”

“Of course,” she chirps into his shoulder. With flats on she’s shorter than him, a fact Louis takes much pride in. It’s not often he gets to be the taller person in a hug. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

Harry’s smile breaks out at the same time as Louis’, and they make eye-contact where he stands to the side. The exchange would be sweet even if Louis wasn’t his sort-of boyfriend. _Which I never cared to clarify… Good job, Harry. Nice going._

Harry’s expression falters with his thoughts as Louis steps back, smiling with another warm thank-you directed towards Anne.

Robin’s hovering behind, waiting for his turn to say goodbye. Louis shifts almost uncomfortably when he sees him, trying hard not to let it show. “Thank you for letting me stay at your home,” he volunteers formally, throwing his hand out to shake. (Louis had told Harry yesterday that Robin scared him, ‘as all fathers of handsome boys do.’)

But Robin pulls him in for a hug and gives him a firm pat on the back. Harry’s family has always been one for hugs. “You’re always welcome here, son.”

His kindness blindsides Louis, and the guarded expression falls off his face. “Thank you very much, Robin.”

“‘Course,” he responds, gripping hard at his shoulder before letting go. Robin steps back and offers a large, closed-mouth smile as the winter sun shines down through the bare tree branches.

Harry follows the interaction as he leans against the house. Louis' shoulders visibly relax at everyone’s sincerity, and he hopes Louis feels accepted. Based on Harry's past experiences, hugging Robin is the closest one will ever get to hugging a real life teddy bear.

"I'll see you around, Louis," Robin proclaims, stepping over to join Anne in her goodbye to Gemma.

"Yeah," Louis grins. "Of course."  

Birds are jumping from tree to tree, jostling the branches and withering nests as Louis makes his way to Harry.

Harry pushes off the house and pinches Louis' side once he's close enough. Apparently he pinches harder than intended because Louis jumps back at the pain and yelps. Harry blames it on nerves; he's been slightly shaking since they got outside. He could blame it on the cold or the hunger pains, but he’s truly just worried about their future.

"Oops," he giggles, attempting to make it seem purposeful.

Louis rolls his eyes and steps closer, expression bashful. "Hi, you dork."  

They stare at each other, pupils coasting over faces and storing every freckle and flush away for a rainy day memory. Louis notes the cute dip of Harry’s chin and the way his hair cascades around his neck, pulled down by gravity and still a bit unruly from their earlier make out session. Harry's a walking contradiction of strong muscles and mushy insides, literally a heart of gold framed by a faux-steel exterior. _Like something from Atlantis in the underground moon lake. Otherworldly._

"Have a safe trip, okay?" Harry urges, eyes wide. "Enjoy the end of your semester and everything."

"Yeah. Yeah, I will." Louis runs his fingers through a stray curl, and it's as silky as the Milky Way. "Thank you, H, for everything."

Gemma roughly clears her throat and they hear car doors opening in the milieu. _You could ask him now. Ask him about your relationship now._ But Harry already knows it's too late. It's not the time. In fact, it's probably the worst time.

The birds continue flitting from branch to branch overhead and he lets it go, just puts the problem into fate's hands.

Louis’ still petting Harry's hair. “The universe is always expanding,” Harry whispers. “Don’t forget me.”

“As if I could ever,” Louis laughs half-heartedly. “I'll text you. Bye, Haz.” Louis kisses his forehead softly and peels himself away, climbing into the passenger seat next to Gemma. Harry’s truck is parked in the street, still sitting where he parked it when he gave Louis a ride home from yoga, and Gemma backs out, maneuvering around it. Robin, Anne, and Harry stand in the driveway, waving their goodbyes knowing she’ll be home for Christmas soon.

Harry watches the white car disappear down the street, walks inside with Anne and Robin like he’s supposed to, and goes straight to peering out his window. Louis and Gemma are too far gone to see anything, but he can only imagine. Just like he can imagine his bubble of the universe expanding with Louis, swelling until it circles Louis' own like a powerful embrace, and he realizes his heart is now tied to more than just a pre-teen home in Southern California.

 

<<< 

 

It’s the third week of December and everything is awful.

Harry’s truck’s heater broke, he’s ripped two pairs of yoga leggings this month alone, his usual grocer has stopped carrying his favorite yogurt, and, to top it all off, he’s barely heard from Louis since he left.

Basically, the past month has spanned an entire year. The only positive to come from it has been the return of his regular workout schedule, which honestly took a few blows when Louis was in town because it seemed much more important to spend days bopping his nose and licking inside his mouth than to go running.

Liam and Niall feel for him, “Really, Haz, we do,” but it’s hard to believe when they’re wrapped up in their significant others at respective ends of Harry’s couch. It’s as if the universe decided to surround Harry with couples; His mum has Robin, Liam has Sophia, Niall has Jessy, and even the twenty-something’s in his night classes have paired up! It’s like _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ that Harry’s watching from afar instead of participating in. It’s one of his worst nightmares (second to not making a difference in the world).

His friends tell him he’s being dramatic, that Louis’ just busy, but Harry thinks there’s more to it. He knows Louis is busy with finals and the fast-approaching holidays, he’s told Harry this much, but he’s hardly even making an effort to stay in touch. He doesn’t initiate conversation, and even when they both find time to chat, he keeps it very casual and stays detached. His voice sounds different, his tone has changed, and there are no text emojis to be found. It seems like Harry was correct about it being a holiday fling for Louis. It’s just too bad it wasn’t the same for him.

He fires up his laptop, resisting the urge to send Louis a photo of the falling rain (a text that would only be answered with a reserved "cool" anyways), and lights a candle in front of his cracked window instead. The flame bends and flickers with the slight draft coming in. It’s the perfect aesthetic for his wistful mood.

Gemma answers his Skype call minutes later, alone at her kitchen table with visible books and note papers spread around her. Pen marks vary across her hands, creating a mosaic of colors on his screen.

“Hi, Harry,” she greets, waving with both hands. “How’s it going?”

Her enthusiasm is contagious. “Hey, Gems. It’s good here, how are you?” He fixes his fringe in the camera, brushing it like Louis used to.

“Dreadful, as per usual December,” she sighs, waving some notes around. “Two finals left, though! I feel like I haven’t slept since the beginning of November. Are you still coming down for New Year’s?”

Harry pauses, contemplating the question of the century. He’s been putting off making a definite decision, mainly due to Louis’ shifting mood. Not that he doesn’t want to spend time with Gemma, but how weird would it be to show up in hopes of reconnecting with Louis, just to be avoided all week? Was it even worth trying? _Yes,_ his heart tells him, but his ego is saying, _Maybe._

“Yeah, I’m still coming to see you. Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he jokes flatly.

She’s suddenly closer to the camera, full attention focused on Harry’s grainy image. “What do you mean ‘that easily’? I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.”

Harry realizes his mistake and bites his tongue. “I mean… Just by asking like- You can’t-”

“Harry,” she cuts in knowingly. “Is something going on with you and Louis?”

He’s about to answer vaguely before changing the subject, but then Gemma raises an eyebrow, and he just can’t. “Well, kind of, yes…” he stammers, suddenly wanting to close his window as shivers run through his body. He’s never been good on the spot. “We were- we kissed,” Harry spouts out. “We, um, we kissed.”

He’s breathing heavily by the end of his ordeal, hoping Gemma doesn’t jump through the screen and kill him. Or, worse, wait for Louis to come home before killing him. Both options would be extremely stressful and make for a horrible Christmas.

But instead, she’s laughing. She’s leaning back on the kitchen bench, head thrown back as her hair falls to her waist and she’s shrieking with humor. Harry doesn’t know what to do.

“Gemma?” he breaches carefully, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. Still, he goes on. “Gems, have finals gotten to you? Do you want to come home early? Should I call mum?”

“No, Harry,” she’s red in the face, gasping for breath. “Don’t call mum, I’m fine. I just- Ahhhhh,” she sighs. “I knew you guys had kissed. It’s obvious there was something going on. He kissed your bloody forehead in front of the entire family. Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

_So much for being sneaky._ “I kind of thought you knew, but wasn’t sure how much you knew,” he explains, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He can't believe he forgot about that forehead kiss. _I guess it was pretty obvious._

“How much I- wait,” she cuts off on her end of the screen, holding up her hands in protest. “If there’s more, I don’t want to know. Do not tell me, Harry Edward Styles, and I’m serious.”

Harry flushes at her (correct) implications, but remains silent.

“Ew!” Gemma shrieks, pulling her chin down to her chest in disgust. “That’s so gross, Harry!”

Harry sits alone on his bed, watching his sister spazz out to the thought of Louis and him, while he pretends there is a proper 'Louis and him' to spazz out about.

"So what?" Gemma interrogates five minutes later, attention half on organizing her papers and half on Harry. "Are you guys not talking, or he didn't call, or mum's mad, or what?"

Harry stares blankly through the screen, not understanding the point. Gemma shrugs with a small elaboration. "You still seem upset about it."  

Damn Gemma and her intuition. Harry shuts the window and pulls his knees up to his chest, putting the question off by bundling up in a blanket. "We're not talking. Or we are, but also we're not? I think he's avoiding me," Harry confesses. "He's screening my texts, for sure. I texted him two days ago and he said he was busy and he'd talk later, and that was the last time I heard from him."

Gemma's nodding, full attention on Harry. He continues, appreciative he has such a thoughtful sister. "Which, I understand he's busy, but- geez, Gemma. I really like him. I like him a lot and I thought he felt the same way."

Harry runs the blue fleece blanket through his fingers as he waits for Gemma’s reply. It’s the same blanket Louis came to him wrapped in before their first kiss, and the same blanket they cuddled up in for their last night together while watching _A Christmas Story._ It’s not as blue as Louis’ eyes, but it’s soft like his hair and blue enough to constantly remind him of _Louis Louis Louis_.

“Well,” she offers. “He’s definitely been distracted. He’s been out of the house more than usual, so something serious might be going on, but this is probably just Louis being Louis and overthinking everything. He would tell me if anything was wrong.” Gemma waves her hands, shuffling her notes back into a pile. “It’ll work out, Haz. Give him time. I think he really likes you, too. And come see us during New Year’s!”

Harry’s fears partially deflate at how positive Gemma is that things will work out. He obviously didn’t choose UCLA on the basis that he would see Louis often - he didn’t even _know_ Louis at the time - but Harry let himself daydream about their future the week they were together. And while it’s encouraging to hear that things could work out, Harry wishes there wasn’t anything to work out, that they were on solid footing and still living out of each other’s pockets.

“Okay, I believe you,” Harry mumbles, just wanting to be done with this conversation. “Tell me about New Year’s or your neighbor with the ginormous cat?” He loves hearing about Fluffy.

“Oh, Mrs. Donahue!” Gemma exclaims. “You’ll never guess what Lou and I came home to.”

Harry’s heart twists. _Calm down, she’s not married to him. They’re just roommates, geez._ “What?”

“She baked us a Hummingbird cake! With Fluffy drawn on top in icing!”

“No way,” Harry laughs. If there’s one person who’s obsessed with Mrs. Donahue’s cat more than he is, it’s probably Mrs. Donahue. “Did she get all the spots right? What about the three toes and-”

“Hold on, Haz,” Gemma cuts him off, turning to something off screen before glancing back with a worried look. “Hey, Louis. Welcome home.”

Harry hears the opening and closing of a fridge door in the background, hears Louis’ footsteps as he walks towards Gemma, and hears his own heart pounding ridiculously for no reason. It’s not as if he hasn’t heard from Louis in weeks, because they really have been talking sporadically, but Flesh Louis is much different than Indifferent Text Louis. He hasn’t prepared himself properly.

But that’s a shame, because suddenly Louis’ on the screen, blurry, taken by surprise, and tragically out of reach. He’s wearing a long-sleeve top with a matching beanie, fringe poking out and small hairs curling around his ears. His cheeks are disarmingly flushed from the three flights of stairs it takes to enter their apartment, and eyes are wide with surprise.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” he squeaks out. “How are you?”

Harry clears his throat, feeling too hot and constricted in his blanket. “I’m good. How are you?”

Louis nods slowly as Gemma shoots glances between the two of them. “I’m good, too. Just got back from visiting the girls all day.”

“Good.” Harry nods back stoically. His fight-or-flight has taken over the sympathetic nerve system, and there’s no turning back now. If he dies from shock, he hopes his family knows he loves them. His muscles tense as his blood pressure increases, all from Louis staring at him through a webcam while his sister watches from the corner of the screen. It’s too much for Harry to handle.

He’s just about to excuse himself to go water his fish (which he doesn’t even have) when Louis beats him to it.

“Well,” he hesitates. “I’ve gotta go eat, so I’ll talk to you later.” Louis' arm twitches, like he was about to wave, but he pulls it down unconsciously and scuttles backwards out of the frame, and apparently out of the room.

"Wow," Gemma sighs, horror-struck. "That was...wow..."

Harry nods from his blanket nest, muscles slowly relaxing as his heartbeat returns to normal.

On screen, she's hurriedly gathering her hair up in a bun and standing. "I've gotta go see what's up with him. Are you going to be okay, Harry?"

"Yeah." His voice is deeper than before, so he clears his throat and shakes his head. "I'll be okay. Good luck with… that."

"Thanks, baby bro," she finishes and ties a hair tie around the knot. "I love you."

"I love you too," he says warmly, and they sign off.  

Gemma marches straight towards Louis' room, socked feet colliding with the wood floor on every step. His door is cracked open, so she knocks lightly before quietly pushing in.   

Louis is sat on the floor and leaning against his bed leg, sandwich clutched in one hand while he scrolls through his phone with the other. "Yes?" he greets, chewing slowly.

"You were gone for a long time," his eyes stay glued to his phone, something that's always bothered Gemma. "How are you?"

"I'm great, mum. Thanks for checking," he mumbles, giving her his most dazzling, smartass smile.

"So sassy when all I wanted was a conversation," she sighs, entering the room and flopping onto his bed. His comforter has always been cozier than hers anyways.

Louis swivels his position on the floor to face her, mood slightly lifted at their banter. "What's up, buttercup?"

"Ha!" she scoffs, rolling into his direct line of sight. She is definitely not his buttercup. "Just curious as to your thoughts on Harry."

His expression tenses before he visibly wills it to relax, putting up a mask. "Good lad," he grins, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Nice little body." He does this sometimes, this deflecting of a situation with shitty humor. _But it’s not even a situation! I just… he’s so lovely. He’s so so lovely._

"Good lad, nice little body?" she sputters. "Wait to be subtle, Louis. Really good job." When he only continues to grin, Gemma rolls over and walks towards the door, dodging empty water bottles and mismatched Vans. If he’s not going to give any answers, then she doesn’t need his soft comforter anyways.

"Well what do you want me to say?" he defends. "Awful lad, bad little body? I'm many things, but not a liar," Louis spits, waving his phone around like a wand.

“Well, frankly, I’d rather you just- oh! Forget it,” Gemma pauses at the door, brushing her flyaways back into her bun before crossing her arms. “I’d rather you two make up because he’s coming here for New Year's Eve whether you like it or not, and I don’t want things to be awkward the whole time. So deal with it.” She throws up her hands in frustration, waiting for his reply.

Louis stares at her from the floor, bed frame digging into his back. She’s right, they do need to fix whatever this is, but he’ll be the last to admit that in a court of law. He’d much rather sulk around her. It’s more fun anyways. “Whatever, Gemma,” he grunts, mind already wandering to his very ignored text message inbox. “We’ll see.”

 

<<< 

 

Gemma’s home for two days before Harry finally cracks.

They’re sitting at the kitchen table, the same table where Harry used to tangle his feet with Louis’ while they ate, and the same room where they cooked together and shared morning kisses. He and Gemma are dining on his homemade whole-wheat waffles in honor of Christmas Eve morning, hers drenched in syrup. The tree’s decorated and propped up in the living room where tens of presents wrapped in shiny paper and glitter spill out from under it. Their stockings are hung on the wall, and it’s the first year Robin’s included in them. It’s properly festive, especially with their fire burning and the sudden appearance of clouds outside.

He and Louis had even kind of made up. Not that there was a problem in the first place, but they definitely talk more now. Harry was positive his upcoming trip to Gemma’s would end their discordant communication, but it just wasn’t _enough._

He wants it to feel like before. He wants to know Louis like he had before their time apart, wants to be able to sense if he was awake or asleep based only on his heartbeat. Harry doesn’t want their conversations to be filled with awkward pauses or forced small talk. He wants to stay on the phone just to hear Louis breathe, and to ask how his sisters were doing because he genuinely cares, not because he genuinely wants to fill the awkward silences. Without that intimacy, he feels like a star on its last supply of hydrogen.

_Maybe I’m forcing it,_ he thinks. _Maybe Louis just doesn’t want to speak to me and he doesn’t know how to let me go._

“You’re talking to yourself an awful lot, H." Gemma waves her fork in front of his face, grabbing his attention. "Care to share?"  

He considers waving her off like he would usually do, but he’s so tired of not knowing what’s going on.

“It’s Louis,” he mutters, defeatedly cutting his waffle with his fork. It’s always Louis. “I just don’t know anymore. We were so close, and distance is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but it’s not working. I don’t know if it’s him or if it’s me but, fuck, we didn’t even talk about it before he left. I don’t even know what we are.”

Gemma nods soberly, chewing her food slowly to buy time. These boys are so dumb, she can’t believe she’s helping them both out. _I better get lots of good karma from this._ “Today’s his birthday,” she mentions.

“Really?” Harry perks up, plain waffles forgotten.

“Really,” she promises. “You should call him. He’d be happy to hear from you.”

“You think I should reach out?” he questions. “Even after Louis seems like he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Harry can take a hint. He’s never been one to beg.

She spears some waffle on her fork. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you. It’s just that he has a lot going on,” she stammers.

“Really?” he bites. “Because I’m tired of being told that when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m a big boy, Gemma. I can take it.”

She gazes out the window at the darkening sky and sighs before turning back to Harry. “If I tell you something, you have to pinky swear you’ll never tell anyone you heard it from me.”

Pinky swears have always been a big deal growing up in the Styles-Cox household. Harry and Gemma used to share secret childhood crushes and thoughts no one else was privy to under the watch of the shimmering moonlight and pinky swears, always whispering a hurried, “Don’t tell, or else,” before the secret came spilling forth. It’s practically a religion, so Harry takes it very seriously when he offers up his pinky, whispering, “I promise.”

Gemma quickly intertwines their fingers before pulling back and divulging, “Lou’s never been in a proper relationship before. At least, he’s never mentioned one. Even in high school there was nothing real.”

Harry’s shocked. “Oh, I- he didn’t tell me that.”

Gemma’s nodding again, sipping her orange juice. “He might not know how to act, or he’s scared of acting wrong, or he’s just avoiding facing the fact you’re worth a lifetime of relationships, so go easy on him. He’s trying the best he knows how.”

It’s Harry’s turn to nod thoughtfully, and it’s all clearing up in his head now. The way Louis was hesitant around his mum and Robin, the way Louis was so good at expressing emotion physically, but could only muster out a weak, “I’ll text you,” when he drove back to Southern California. Even their communication pattern is suddenly clear; Louis’ not avoiding him, just being too careful not to hurt Harry (which, by being too careful, he is hurting Harry, but that’s a different conversation). It’s as if his world just rotated away from the moon, and Harry got the first taste of sunlight he’s had in weeks.

Gemma clears her dishes, placing them in the sink and- _When did she have time to finish her waffle?_ “I’m going to get dressed, but think about it, Harry. You should really call him.”

She saunters through the doorway, leaving nothing but a whiff of sugary syrup behind. Harry sighs down towards his own sugar-free breakfast and takes another bite of his nourishment. If he’s going to sit here thinking profoundly, he’s not going to do it on an empty stomach.

 

<<< 

 

Harry decides to call halfway through the party. His family’s at the Horan’s house, along with most of the neighborhood, and he’s watching Liam and Sophia work the room, sugar cookies and champagne in their hands. He hasn’t stopped thinking about Louis all day, and seeing them definitely doesn’t help. Louis and him should be the power couple of the century, not _Liam,_ he sneers.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Liam, just that Harry really misses Louis. They would make a better Posh and Becks anyways.

He’s occupied by guessing Sophia’s hair care routine when a girl around Gemma’s age smiles at him from across the room. She’s beautiful in a deep red dress and luscious hair pinned up elegantly, eyes even sparkling like Louis’ do, and suddenly it all feels wrong.

Harry clutches his phone through his pants pocket, letting his hand melt to the form as he dashes for the nearest exit. He has to get outside, has to call Louis before the night ends. He stumbles through the back door and makes his way to a quiet corner of the backyard. Not many guests are out here, mainly parents hiding and acting like they don’t know their children are sneaking drinks, so it’s not long before Harry leans against the house, out of everyone’s ear shot.

He pulls out his phone, playing with it in his hands as he contemplates what to say. Should he open with a loud, “Happy birthday!” or is that too strong? He could text first, but what if Louis screens his call? Maybe he should dial as private, *87 has always been good for prank calls, but this isn't a prank call. He should probably just call. _I’ll call. I’ll call and I’ll open with, “Hi.”_

He clenches his jaw, about to set his plan in motion when his phone starts ringing. It’s still the duck ringtone, and his heart jumps when he looks at the caller's contact. It’s Louis.

“Hello?” he answers tentatively.

“Haz.” Louis breathes life through the phone line, vibes shooting in radio waves to cell phone towers, maybe even into space. Louis is certainly out of this world, so it’d be no surprise if his cell phone carrier was as well. “How are you?”

Louis sounds relaxed, maybe even tipsy. It calms Harry and he unwinds into the house. “I’m great, Lou. How are you?”

“Sorry,” he sighs. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. I’ve been wanting to call you since I saw you on Skype, well, since I left honestly. I can’t stop thinking about you and what a mess I’ve made and I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“I’m sorry too, Lou. I-”

“No,” he cuts off. “It’s my fault and my turn so don’t go turning yourself into a martyr right now. I have to explain.” Background voices make their way through Louis’ speaker, like he’s out and needs somewhere to hide, just like Harry.

“I like you so much. I’ve liked you since I first saw you, and that was fine, but then I just kept liking you more and more and it was terrifying. I've never felt so much for one person before, and it scares the shit out of me,” he chuckles lightly. “But I need to grow up. Stan and Gemma both told me to get over it and let my feelings run wild, and they’re right. I’ll do it.”

He’s beginning to ramble, but Harry couldn’t care less. “You’ll do it?” he encourages, spurring him on.

“Yes, Harold. I will accept my grown-up card and tell you how I feel. I feel like being scared about having your first boyfriend is a perfectly natural thing, unless your potential first boyfriend is Harry Styles. Then, I feel, it’s just plain stupid to be anything short of elated.”

Harry giggles slowly, utterly flattered. Louis can’t believe he managed to land the most beautiful boy he’s ever met.

“I’m not done,” Louis continues. “I feel like if the universe is always expanding, then there’s no reason why I can’t be as well. I want to learn as much as I can about you, and I want to know you in every lifetime. I want to fit seamlessly in your life until poets grow sick with writing about how great we are...”

“You do fit,” Harry confesses. “You completely do, Lou.”

They stay on the line, listening to the muffled noises of each other’s parties and dreaming of solid futures together, futures where they know each other better than they know themselves.

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry sighs.

“You don’t have to apologize, Harry. This isn’t a ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ type of deal.”

“No,” he agrees. “But this is a give-and-take, and I need to apologize. I should’ve talked to you before you left, and I shouldn’t have ignored the problem. It was awful not being able to truly talk to you, and I never want it to happen again. I felt like a dead battery, full of potential but useless in my current state. I’ll make it up to you every day if I have to.”

“Though there is absolutely no need for you to do so, apology accepted.”

He observes a new couple walking outside, nuzzling noses and laughing breathlessly. “And also,” Harry adds, shivering as a breeze runs over him. “Happy birthday, Lou.”

His breath hitches through the phone. “How’d you know?”

“Gemma,” Harry answers. “But I’d never forget my favorite boy’s birthday.”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” Louis muses.

“You’re just you,” Harry explains softly, chest feeling a hundred times lighter. “How’s your day going? Did you get presents?”

“Yes," he relents. "My mom and the girls each got me something. They’re so thoughtful, even the young ones. But there was one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asks, surprised. “What?”

“You,” Louis states confidently. “Will you be my boyfriend, Harry Styles?”

Harry’s soaring. He’s flying. “Yes.” There’s not a star in Heaven that he can’t reach. “Yes. It would be my honor,” he boasts, and the universe is singing.

“Great,” Louis exhales heavily, happily. “That- that’s great.”

“Great,” Harry laughs, a little too loudly. He feels like he just grew five feet. “I think my heart's made of soda pop, now. You made it all fizzy.

“I feel like my limbs are made of rubber. Like I could stretch a thousand miles just to hug you,” Louis trills.

_I feel like you’re everything._ But Harry doesn’t say it. He’s too busy smiling at the moon, thinking that it truly has ties with love.

There’s a sudden crash in the milieu of Louis’ line, followed by a shout of someone looking for him. He snaps a quick, “I’ll be right there, Lottie. Tell Stan we’re leaving,” muffled with a hand over his cell phone receiver.

“I have to go, love,” he tells Harry. “My sister’s getting antsy, and our grandma’s trying to pick a fight.”

Harry grins at the thought of Louis with his family, even if they do fight sometimes. “Okay, Lou. I’ll be down to visit in a couple days.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” There’s another shout on Louis’ end and he sighs heavily.

“Goodnight, boyfriend. I’ll text you later - for real this time,” he assures.

Harry’s heart is singing. “Goodnight. Happy birthday, boyfriend.”

Neither of them hang up, too elated to move. It’s Louis who breaks first, breathing out one last soft, “Goodnight,” before hanging up.

Harry pockets his phone slowly, moving like a daydream. A sparkler’s going off in his chest and sending fire through his veins. He can’t believe it’s fixed, can’t believe he has a boyfriend. And his boyfriend is _Louis_ , the sweetest, most attractive person he’s ever met. This is definitely the best day of Harry’s life.

“There you are,” Harry turns towards Gemma’s voice lethargically, not wanting to break the spell. “What are you doing?” she asks him suspiciously, stepping closer and running her hands up her bare arms.

“I was talking to Louis,” he beams, straightening his collar.

“How’d it go?” she asks knowingly. Damn Gemma for always being one step ahead.

“Wonderfully,” Harry brags. “We’re boyfriends, now. Best phone call of my life.”

“Of course you are,” she sighs, but Harry can detect the endeared smile pulling her lips up. “Let’s go inside. Niall won’t shut up about derby and you’re the only one who knows what he’s talking about.”

She makes her way back to the door and Harry follows, head turned up while he stargazes. Though Hylozoism was part of his official yoga training, it’s not often he gets worked up about the universe’s breathing techniques. But tonight is one of the exceptions, and he lets himself thank the universe for Louis, and all he brings to the world. After all, if Louis is trying something new, maybe Harry should, too.

 

<<< 

 

Harry’s tangled up in Louis days later. He has him pinned flat on his floor behind the safety of Louis’ bedroom door, lazily rolling their hips together as they make out. It tastes like home for both of them.

Harry pulls back with a loud pop, lips red, suddenly remembering, “I got you something.”

“Really?” Louis laughs breathlessly underneath him, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. “You have to do it right now?”

Harry pouts. “Yes, this isn’t fair. Stop using your sexual prowess to your advantage.” He pecks Louis’ nose, wiggling out of his leg clamp and shuffling towards his bag. His boner is obvious as he pulls out a rectangular box.

“That’s for me?” Louis gasps, sitting up immediately.

“Yep. Wrapped it myself.” It took him an hour, too. He couldn’t pick the right wrapping paper, finally deciding on tiny Santas dancing on a solid black background. “Here.”

Louis reads the card first - a lovely ‘happy birthday, boyfriend’ scrawled at the top - before diving into the paper. Harry’s worried his grin will split his face when he pulls out the soft black tank top. “ _It is what it is_ ,” Louis reads. “I can’t believe you got this!”

“Do you like it?” he asks nervously. Louis hadn’t shown too much interest in the item during Black Friday, but Harry thought it held great memories (and that it could show off Louis’ great arms, but that’s besides the point).

“I love it,” Louis exclaims, quickly changing into it and flexing his biceps. Harry’s getting light-headed. “How’s it look?”

“Perfect, babe,” Harry promises in awe, crawling over to him again. “You’re perfect.”

Louis traces his fingers over Harry’s cheekbones. “You’re not so bad, yourself,” he drawls, pulling him in. Louis kisses Harry gently, softly, warmly, undressing him through his mouth, and it’s as if the Sun was just brought to life.

           

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Pretty please comment or kudo :)


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